


The Case of the Nightingale Locket

by sfumatosoup



Category: Sherlock Holmes - fandom
Genre: M/M, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:59:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfumatosoup/pseuds/sfumatosoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes and Watson have complicated feelings for one another. Petty disagreements, angst and misunderstandings ensue. First time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Case of the Nightingale Locket

By, SfumatoSoup

Description: Holmes attempts to hide his affection for Watson, Watson discovers it anyway, and tries to figure out how to proceed.

Holmes/Watson SLASH, angst/humor/romance/mystery. If any of this offends your delicate sensibilities I may recommend that you proceed with caution or leave now.

Disclaimer: I had heard that Sherlock Holmes was public domain, but I thought I'd hook one of these on to be on the safe side. I don't own any of ACD's characters, don't mean any harm, don't intend to profit. The characters that you don't recognize are mine and they like it that way. ALSO, be sure to check out the NOTES at the end!

\--

an Forward Note by Dr. John H. Watson:

I have had the distinct honour of being Mr. Sherlock Holmes biographer throughout his illustrious career. It has been one of the greatest joys for me to set to paper that which has brought me a more fascinating life than ever I would have had, if young Stamford had not introduced me to the eccentric, young chemist all those years ago! I have attempted to do my best to illustrate the great consulting Detective's many intriguing cases, which I have, as his friend and partner been fortunate to aide him with on numerous occasions. 

However it may grieve my heart to do so, this particular case is one which I intend to never publish, as its contents are quite unsuitable for the audience of this age. Perhaps more enlightened eyes will someday happen upon these pages and scoff to imagine my reservations. However, that being said, written merely for my own records; notes taken not long after the original events, I preserve these cherished memories solely for myself and Mr. Holmes.

You see, I very much desired to chronicle this adventure, making a suitable documentary from the hash of nearly illegible scrawlings not because of its particularly unusual or engaging features (although this case would happen to have such), but because within the unfolding events, I experienced a revelation which forever changed the nature of my relationship with my dearest companion.

I beg you, my dear reader, to be patient with me as I endeavor to relate to you my tale, for I am an old man now and though my mind is yet far from feeble and my memory of these times is vivid, my heart aches with an irrepressible longing that stays the pen in my hand. I only hope to do you justice, Sherlock. 

Dr. John H. Watson

\---

Currently the year is 1918(1) and Mr. Sherlock Holmes is retired to Sussex Downs keeping honey bees. Bees, of all things! The abominable pests! He assures me rather sternly they are not in fact pests but vital friends whom we should thank for our very bread and butter, for whom without, there surely would be none. (I would like to add the disclaimer that my friend has gone mad. In quite the state he cruelly shoved me from the comfort of my chair and marched me outside to apologize to the little beasts for my 'erroneous, rude and incomprehensible slander'. I should also like to add he coerced me into reminding my readership of their importance to the very foundation of the natural order.) 

From all reports the apiaries out back are thriving and new structures are being constructed as we speak!

Recently, my friend has published  _The Practical Handbook of Bee Culture with some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen_ _._

I confess, it is a slow read, and I doubt I'll suffer it to its final chapter.

As for myself, I have remained in London having long since re obtained a position at my original practice in Paddington. Though I work very rarely these days, I find that it keeps me young to stay active. I shall one day, I suppose, in the near future relinquish the practice to one of my younger interns in favour of a permanent retirement. Occasionally, I also would like to boast that I have the distinct privilege of assisting Scotland Yard as a stand-in police surgeon, although I confess I mostly do so out of a deeply intimate interest in keeping updated on the crime trends in London, which Holmes has had an ebbing interest in over the years much to the chagrin of the general public and Scotland Yard, I am sure.

Recently, I visited my friend at his bee farm, and over some toast and fresh honey declared my interest in chronicling this case.

"Why should you waste your time engaged upon such a fruitless venture?"

I quirked an eyebrow and grinned, "I could say the same to you."

"We've been over this, Watson; I am not interested in moving back to our old suite in London, regardless of our recent acquisition of the property (2). Rent it, my good man and use the money to buy your dear Agnus in the front office a nicer coat, her current one is simply atrocious. It reminds me of the foul slimy things the old tom outside likes to choke up onto my doorstep every morning, and you, John, refer to my bees as abominable pests!" He carried on in this fashion for some time, and I confess I grew a bit weary of his incessant and quite off-topic grousing so instead, decided to drown it out by humming to myself the new uplifting ditty I'd recently picked up from the young men down by the docks.  _Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag!_ How charming! 

After recovering my good-humour, I thought it would be just about time to return an ear to the Babbling Brook of Babylon. 

"So as you can see, I am quite content to remain retired in the fresh air of the country, than be assaulted by the smog and harassed by a never ending slew of obnoxious clientele," Holmes declared with a decisive note of finality that precluded any hope I'd anticipated snatching onto to persuade him. He's an obstinate force of nature, and dear reader, I warn you in advance, as cantankerous as ever.   

You see, in defense of my position, and the vulgar, unworthy exchange that is to follow, I had been long nursing the notion of a more permanent solution for our reunion, and it was incredibly disheartening to suffer the constant rejection of my every effort.   

"You're a miserable, bitter, stubborn, rusty old codger! Have it your way, Holmes! Die alone and see if I even show to your funeral," I shouted, my face as hot as my boiling temper.   

I must have startled him with such an uncharacteristic outburst, for never have I seen his mouth so agape. I could nearly see his back-most molars, dear reader, and I can confirm they were less than sightly. For a moment, his lips flapped open and shut soundlessly like a beached fish gasping for air and my heart nearly froze in my chest: Was he about to suffer an apoplectic fit? Though of sturdy health for his years, the medic in me instantly prepared for the worst. I was utterly stricken: what torment would it have been, should my tantrum have been the death of my dearest friend? I surely think I would prefer any manner of torture than shoulder the weight of that particular, loathsome burden.

Then, most maddeningly, he smiled at me with the queerest, smuggest smile I've ever borne witness to from the man, and trust me when I assure you how often I've seen that cocksure expression aimed in my direction.   

I balled my fists in fury and grit my teeth, steeling myself against the caustic reprisal sure to come.    

"Watson-- _John,_  truly, be reasonable. You've seen your fair share of corpses! Now tell me, upon the examining table, have you ever observed one observing you back? If am dead, how can I possibly be expected to know let alone _care_ whether or not you've attended my funeral? Besides, my dear fellow, the mere threat is preposterous. Even if your love for me did not compel you to say your final farewells, then your intrinsic sense of decorum would oblige you to attend anyway," Holmes contends. "Now as for your colourful assassination of my character. As for being a miserable, bitter, stubborn, rusty old codger? Well I say, quite right, sir, you've always been a remarkably astute judge of the human condition! If you believe me to be, indeed, all of these things, then I shall accept the assignation humbly."

"Oh, Holmes!" I exclaim, quite thoroughly beside myself with such nonsense, "When have you ever been humble about anything in your entire life?"

"If you think me so detestable," my friend appeals, "Then I could never allow you to live with me. I care too much for you to impose upon such a dear friend such a vile fate."

"You are a menace, Holmes. Utterly infuriating. Impossible. You can't be reasoned with," I declared, throwing up my hands.

"Whatever do you mean, Watson, I practically invented reason!"

It's moments like this were you can truly comprehend what sort foolishness I've learned to not only tolerate, but adore. 

I smiled at him and shook my head letting out a long-suffering sigh of utter, fond exasperation. 

"I surrender. Go play outside with your precious bees."

"The bees and I cordially invite you to join us." His grin is contagious and I knew I had already forgiven before I'd even considered the prospect. Such is my weakness for this most singular man.

I watched him for awhile longingly. I wondered if I could bear to give up all my creature comforts; my fond, familiar routines and uproot my entire world for this life, but as I looked upon his cherished, age-lined face, I saw a man I'd grown old with, that I would, had I the chance, grow older still beside.

Yet, from all I could glean, he seemed determined to live out his days in self-reclusive, self-imposed isolation. My visits appear to buoy him to good-spirits...  _if only we could find some common ground._   

I swatted away a bee, and then another, and then another again and quickly realized the swarm had discovered me and decided I was obviously worthy of investigation. While I did not particularly care for their company, they did inspire a thought. If I could appeal to his latest interest, perhaps he would be more willing to give me the time of day. 

"These bees of yours must be currently in their mating season, I suspect, by the way they keep dancing about one another." It's almost charming to witness if they wouldn't insist on doing it so close to my head.

Holmes smirked at me as a I cringed back from the interested cloud.

Ah, and at last, I recalled I had yet one more mission to accomplish before I departed. I wasted no time and forged on to my point directly. 

"Holmes, I am going to write up the case."

"What case?" he asked, glancing at me with a perplexed frown. 

"You know which case."

"It's inadvisable," he cautions, "Unless of course you censor half the content."

"I considered it and decided against doing so. I cannot rewrite history, not when it pertains to the most significant moment of my life. Of both of our lives. And obviously considering the sensitive nature of the subject matter I wish to depict, the entire tale will never see the light of day on a publisher's desk."

"Quite frankly, darling, I couldn't care less. While I have no inclination to spend what few years I have left rotting in jail, after I've expired, I don't care one whit what becomes of my memory."

"Your memory is your legacy, it's something I've dedicated a great deal of my life to ensuring and protecting," I object.

"Which is why I know it's in capable hands," Holmes says with a pacifying nod. 

"But you don't care-"  
  
"Of course not. Let the world know exactly who you made them love, I'm neither ashamed nor afraid of the truth," Holmes expresses with impassioned intensity.  

"Still, for obvious reasons, this work will be kept between us alone."

"Until we're dead and buried?" Holmes inquires.

"Not even then if you don't wish it. You may take it to your grave. I'm writing it for you."

Holmes swallows thickly and shakes his head. "If it's only for me, don't waste your time."

I wasn't offended and I decided to elaborate, "It's for both of us. I need this. I need to write this, to see some tangible proof that everything we are to each other and everything we experienced was more than some ephemeral dream." 

Holmes glances at him briefly as he lifts out a shelf to remove the honeycomb. "Well then I suppose if you must. If it's that important to you, it would be beastly of me to deny you my consent." I knew my friend well enough to read the nuances of his tone. It was even enough, but still, I could hear the tight, discomfort. On some level, it warmed me to know that Holmes was willing me to give me this, something I had wanted to do for so long in spite of his reluctance. The gesture was so generous I didn't know what to say-- how to convey the depth of my gratitude.  

He pulled off a glove and wiped his forehead, looking across at me contemplatively. "You are such a very sentimental creature, Watson. It's endearing, but terribly impractical. Why couldn't you consider putting to use your talents elsewhere? You could spruce up my apiary studies! I could certainly use your assistance. After all, I have my suspicions that you find _my_ writing a useful sleep-aid."  

I laughed, quite taken off guard, but I didn't bother to contradict him, he was right after all. "Let's be honest, Holmes, it's a very niche market," I pointed out in self defense giving a small, helpless shrug. "But, how on earth could you tell, dear chap?"

Holmes grinned. "I suppose you couldn't get past the first chapter, for had you, you would know that these are drones, which are male. Their queen is preoccupied laying her eggs, as mating season is quite finished. You would have read that in the fourth chapter. Therefore, this apparent dancing you see cannot possibly be mating. They are instead, communicating with each other about the hive, delegating responsibilities and alerting warnings about the swatting stranger standing in their midst," he explained, glancing at me, "It's fascinating. They really are quite the paragon of a perfectly structured monarchy, each designated with it's own vital role in service to the Queen. A microcosm unto themselves that our greater humanity could certainly borrow a lesson or two from. Not unlike ourselves, my good fellow!"

"I'm sure," I grinned, "However, I think there are certain matters more appropriate for the two of us to engage in, in our advanced years than frolicking about the countryside collecting sweets for Queen and Country."

Holmes clears his throat with a small, amused smirk. "I believe ol' Georgey boy may object to you referring to him as a Queen."

"Ah. Indeed." I felt my face color a little, embarrassed by the silly gaffe. It's truly peculiar how fast the world changes around us, only speeding up as the years begin to pile up behind us. 

"I am curious, my dear Watson, what activity could you suggest for us to engage in this afternoon?"

I am not surprised by his leer. Holmes has always been daringly cavalier, but I'm hardly scandalized. It's a new century, the world is at war with itself and I am an old, besotted fool. 

"Well, since I so clearly misunderstand the intimate rituals of bees and their mating seasons, perhaps you could rectify my confusion," I shrugged. "And, if you're so inclined, I would be appreciative of a demonstration, in order to, of course, ensure my education is as thorough as possible."

Producing a rare, elated laugh, Holmes clapped me on the shoulder, "I miss your pawky wit, old chap!"

His arm slipped around my shoulders as he leaned over. I shivered, closing my eyes when I felt his warm lips brush against the shell of my ear. "Do you intend to stay the night here?" he asked. "I assure you, your comfort will be of utmost priority, and your needs...well, those will be quite attended to."

I felt Holmes swing around to face me, pulling me flush against him and opened my eyes once more. "Stay, John," he whispered, leaning his forehead to my own. 

"Of course. You know I will," I confirmed, "I always do."

Linking arms with my friend, I picked up my bags and allowed him to lead me into his house, eager always, even on the cusp of our dotage to explore our intimacy with fewer articles of clothing.    

\--

Able to convince my dear friend to allow me to write this narrative, I shall first explain that certain explanations of events are from Holmes perspective, as to better illustrate the lay out of our scene.

All this began in 1895, not more than a year after Holmes' positively remarkable return from the dead. I had recently handed over my practice in Paddington for a sum of money (3), and reattached myself to the side of my companion, even moving back into our old quarters on Baker Street.

One morning, like any other we dined upon our breakfast. Holmes sat across from me fully absorbed in reading about some case, occasionally he would emit some unintelligible utterance whilst remaining completely concealed from view by the newspaper. As I poured myself a fresh cup of tea, Mrs. Hudson entered the drawing room to deliver a message to Holmes.

Folding up the morning herald and tossing it on the table, Holmes took up his penknife and made quick work of the envelope. After blankly regarding the missive he stood up and walked toward the grate where he tossed it into the little fire. Poking at the embers, the note was quickly consumed by the blaze and withered into ash. For a time, Holmes remained standing by the fire, his back turned to me.

Clearly the note had troubled the great detective. His unresponsive behavior left me quite concerned and quite naturally, intensely curious.

"Whatever is the matter, Holmes?"

Upon turning to respond, he gave me the queerest look, "Why nothing, dear chap," quickly changing the subject he glanced toward me, "I think I'm due to visit my brother, should a client call on me during such a time, please inform them I will be back no later than seven."

"Shall I pass on this word to Mrs. Hudson? I have errands I need to see to, Holmes. I was not planning on sitting around here all day," I replied, a touch indignant.

"Of course, excuse me dear fellow, I wasn't thinking."

"Never mind. Say hello to Mycroft for me." I said, as Holmes donned his hat and coat in preparation for departure.

Following narrative as directed by S.H: (quick note, the following case is not  _the_  case that I promised, but instead a situation which occurred far prior, that we now offer as a sort of introduction — W.)

As for why I didn't explain the missive to Watson, will be made evident shortly.

After exiting the cab in front of the Carlton club, and walking a short distance, I entered the Diogenes club. Mycroft stood there with a pensive expression, awaiting my guest check in. (Yes, I was a guest, as my membership had been terminated many years ago due to improper conduct; my propensity to attract attention even unintentionally.)

Upon being ushered into an adjoining section of the Stranger's room, Mycroft locked the door and directed me to a quite decadent armchair of Persian albizia (4) which, due to my shaken nerves was notably underappreciated. Mycroft stood before me, a great towering figure, with a portentous look in his deep set eyes. He rubbed his temple and dragged a fleshy hand across his overly developed brow in an uncommon display of frustration.

It will make sense if I now explain the note. It read:

S —

Carelessness with certain personal items has led to sensitive information being obtained by one whom wishes to extort capital by threat of exposure. Come here at earliest convenience to discuss.

— M

"I'll get right to the point, Sherlock. By exceptional circumstances, which I am not at liberty to dispel, I have waylaid a list from our villain of those whom he expected a cheque from. Imagine my concern and dismay upon discovering your name in the section of this book next to an estimable sum!" Mycroft paused for a moment to catalogue my look of dismay, "Fortunately, this blackmailer appears for the time being, to be rather dormant though certainly no less clever than your old friend Milverton (5). For he is lying low, undoubtedly hiding under the guise of a more respectable position, waiting for the opportunity to strike his victims when he knows they will be more desperate and susceptible to complying with his lofty demands."

"Do you suppose he'll be informing me of his intent to collect a cheque soon?" I asked ill at ease.

"Undoubtedly. There is little evidence obtained to be able to track this fellow at the moment, let alone convict him on any charges." Mycroft sighed, "Sherlock, how could you be so irresponsible? Dare I ask what this blackmailer may have obtained, and why he should think it would be so destructive?"

"There would be no hiding such a thing from you, brother, who knows me better than I know myself. I most sincerely regret I had a moment of weakness back when I was still in hiding from Moriarty's agents. I kept a log which I wrote in frequently recording various thoughts and observations. Being melancholy and lonesome I suppose there may have been moments where I pined for my old digs at Baker Street… there may have been some instances where I had recorded a little too candidly my affection for a friend of mine. I may have at some point misplaced this, but I did not overly concern myself as I had thought I had merely stuck it in the bottom of a trunk upon my return to Baker Street. It was a negligible enough log; from all appearances the notes were terribly dry. Whoever discovered it did it a thorough turn, there were hardly many pages devoted to these romantically imbued gaffes!" I stated uncomfortably, trying to look anywhere but in the face of what I knew would be condemnation and shame.

"Sherlock. You have dealt before with victims of blackmail. How could you have taken such a chance?" Mycroft reprimanded with sharpness in his tone. I felt his examining gaze and heard him elicit a sigh. Then he spoke softly with much concern laced in his tone, "I know we have not always been close, but as you are my only kin, I will do my best to aide you and diminish this threat. You must understand the ramifications should this become known to the public. It will not just ruin your reputation and end your career but it will harm myself by association. And no matter how the Doctor may vehemently deny an indecent relationship with you, gossip will fly and inevitably ruin him."

I had been aware of the unusual nature of my inclinations from youth, though having no proper circumstance to act upon them for Mycroft and I had been privately tutored. Had I been sent off to boarding school, I cannot claim these urges would have not been explored. Due to my preoccupation with developing my mind, these feelings laid quite dormant in me.

After years of living with Watson, whom had, if not a similar personality, an extraordinarily complimentary character to my own, I noticed he began to worm his way into that part of me that I had thought long ago sealed off. The true nature of my affections only displayed itself to me when Watson announced his marriage, which became my impending doom. Though torn as I was about having to leave him, and allow him to think I had perished at Reichenbach, there was for awhile, a sense of relief, at not having to come home to an empty Baker St. knowing my Watson was giving someone else his generous loving self. I had become tortured by constant daydreams of their happy domestic bliss, while I lay with a tourniquet tied about my arm, injecting my only true friend, a dependable pain dulling 7 solution of cocaine.

Now that I had my Watson back, I was loathe to contemplate the horror he would justifiably feel of my untoward emotions. Losing him again would be my  _real_  destruction.

Only after a moment did I notice my white knuckled clutch upon my knees. I casually released my grip and smoothed the trouser fabric. With some amount of defeat, I replied in the affirmative, that I grasped this situation wholly.

"I recommend for now that you go home and await your first threat, and then begin at once negotiations."

I knew, despite having to work with the utmost of care about this delicate situation, that it wouldn't overly challenge me to discover the perpetrator, fish him out and retrieve my mislaid log. So as not to worry you further about this lackluster (but rather upsetting) case, I'll assure you it turned out well for me and not for the blackguard who got his grimy hands on and profited from so many a person's secrets. Not a week later I was informed that if I cared at all for my privacy, I owed a large sum of money to a certain deposit box. This is a first rate bad idea for any blackmailer, it turned out our friend was really quite careless!

Aside from quick leg work, a proficient acting job around Watson and a few moments of utter anxiety over the possibility of being exposed, the problem was wrapped up successfully.

As extortion was quite a punishable offense, one Mr. Havish, a seemingly rather dull office clerk, was now settled with a fairly sizable lawsuit and a stint in prison. This was a relief, for in the whole Milverton problem, he had been working within the confines of the law. Mr. Havish was far less clever, yet had still managed to ruin the lives of several unfortunate people.

I was hardly intimidated now, for knowing that I was behind his destruction, he would inevitably try to defame me, but now anything he would say could not be substantiated and would therefore be regarded as hearsay, particularly because he would desire to seek retribution against me, making his case even more implausible.

This is also where Mycroft stepped in to hush up any rumours, using his long arm of influence where and when necessary.

Remaining evidence of scandalous nature was sorted out and destroyed in the grate as I had done with Milverton, along with the log, the only item on this earth that could utterly destroy me. I watched it with satisfaction go up in flames.

The point of explaining this event was that for the first time, I truly had to face my bourgeoning sentiments toward my dear companion. There were many points throughout this hellish situation I thought I would break down and just tell him. It was agonizing sitting there trying to behave normally when I was in constant fear of exposure. Not only would I face possible consequences with the law and deal with my career being over but I would have to face the prospect of losing the one person whom ever really cared for me. As ill-used as Watson has been by me in the past, this would certainly be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Not long after, Jupiter descended from his orbit to congratulate me…though in the vaguest possible way. After a rather unusual supper in which he seemed more than a little preoccupied with his interest in my companion, he looked pointedly at Watson and told him to call on him in Whitehall should he ever have an issue that I couldn't help him resolve. I just nearly had a fit of apoplexy! What did he mean by such a cryptic invitation? Watson glanced over at me with obvious question in his eye.

After Mycroft departed I quirked a grin, casually shrugged and offered as explanation, "it's just his way of saying he's fond of you, and lacks confidence in me."

So that we don't ignore the chronology of events, the very next case featured the Wisteria Lodge situation. Mr. John Scott Eccles came with his "grotesque" experience, in which his Spaniard friend, Garcia had been brutally murdered. Watson has written of this and I mention it only in passing because there were certain clues I deduced leading me to conclude that the two men were involved in some sort of romantic liaison. I dutifully kept silent in order to protect my client from embarrassment, but the uncanny timing did not go unnoticed.

It felt as if the fates were conspiring to force me into some sort of action.

One particularly 'grotesque' day, I found myself hailing a cab for Whitehall. Surely Mycroft couldn't turn me away because I was calling without prior announcement. This was after all, an exceptional situation. I was quite desperate at this point to hide from Watson this agonizing yearning, yet I felt myself, great actor that I was, slipping down a fast and slippery slope.

Watson was growing increasingly concerned as my level of cocaine use was getting (as he saw it) excessive.

More than once he had called me out on it, begging for me to speak to him about what plagued me rather than harm myself repeatedly with my "infernal" solution.

At last I arrived, and was invited in.

"Ah, I had predicted you would be out to see me sooner or later. I don't recall having visited with you this frequently even as children." Mycroft commented with a note of amusement. I failed to see any humour in anything and plowed my way through his foyer.

I spun around and held my hands out in a capitulating gesture, "I need you to help me see that my feelings are irrational. I need you to help me cure myself of this addiction."

Mycroft heaved a massive sigh, and shook his head, exasperatedly waving away my hands, "first off, you need to be more discreet in your interactions. If you find it so impossible to do so then you'll need to separate yourself from the doctor post haste. I shouldn't need to remind you that should you allow this situation to get out of your control, it could do an immense amount of harm to yourself and those directly associated with you."

I nodded in acquiescence, "I do recall you saying something to that effect once."

"I cannot help you change yourself, Sherlock. That would be nigh impossible, and even if it were, I'd lack the energy to attempt such a feat."

"I am well aware, I have thusly decided on the proper course of action."

"I trust you will make the correct decision?"

"Yes. No one will ever be the wiser to my vices save you, Mycroft."

"Actually, that is not the course of action I recommend."

I must have looked a right fool, gaping as I did. I cried, "You will have to be more transparent than that!"

"I advise you to make a clean breast of it."

"And what, pray tell, would lead you to guide me to make such a rash and fool hardy declaration?"

"You should be neither rash nor fool hardy, but I don't believe such a declaration would be met with much objection. I should think it may possibly be matched and reciprocated."

"You are aware, brother, of the doctor's enviable record with the fairer sex?"

"I recall it spans 3 or 4 continents…" Mycroft suddenly shook with a rare chuckle and then quickly slipped back into his typical stoic demeanor, "be it so…he holds you in the highest regard, I do not think I need to speak the obvious when it's clear as day from his writings."

"Those writings are published in the Strand for all to read, and if it's really as clear as day, I'd be flummoxed to explain how Scotland Yard has not yet thrown both the good doctor and myself into the stocks!" I exclaimed, shaking my hands before me animatedly. Immensely aggravated as I was, I just barely managed to comport myself with enough control as to keep from knocking in his block of that infernal know-it-all expression.

"Come, come. Clear to me, Sherlock, clear to me, as it should be clear to you. Not just anyone possesses our uncanny talent for observation. As to that, I am quite sure your talents have been weakened recently due to your distracting feelings. Your work has suffered some? Of course it has, which is why the sooner you unburden yourself the better off for everyone. I regret this is all I have to give you on the matter as I find this all quite wearisome. I shall retire to the Diogenese club this evening for some roast duck and an aged scotch. You may join me if you care to, but since I know you'd rather not, Good day, Sherlock."

"You always dismiss me in this same fashion." I responded querously.

"You should rely on your own wits."

"Very well, for my sake, I hope this isn't the one time you're wrong, Mycroft, goodnight."

I let myself out, and walked the entire way home, hoping that some exercise would clear the mess currently rattling about inside my already taxed brain.

There is no way to prepare telling someone highly inappropriate to fancy that you fancy them.

"Watson, I must confess to you something," I declared taking a pull from my cigarette. I had dragged my regular chair by the window in the drawing room, and was sitting comfortably in my typical dressing gown, with my knees relaxing against the arm of the chair. I saw Watson in my periphery nod my go-ahead.

"I've led you to believe that I had no interest in the softer emotions. I would just like to clarify by saying that this is an untruth."

"Am I to understand that you're in love with someone?" Watson expostulated.

"I—" I stopped suddenly to look at my dear friend, who was currently gawking at me as if I'd grown a second head. No, this one was a secret I'd go to my grave with, "Never mind, Watson."

"Holmes…" he began, but then stopped and looked down.

For once, Watson seemed to retreat on the issue, which I was profoundly grateful for.

(Watson cont.)

I confess, in my writings I appear to be quite the dullard next to my companion. I would like to, at this time, clear this misconception and emphasize, that next to Sherlock Holmes' particular brand of genius we are all mere mortals. His sheer ability to make transparent that which to anyone else would be unobvious is truly remarkable. After living with a consulting detective for years, my sense of perception and ability to hypothesize upon cursory observation was quite honed compared to the average general practitioner of medicine.

When Holmes revealed to me the other day that he was not in fact the "automaton" I had made him out to be in my chronicling of our adventures, it stirred more than a passing interest. His unwillingness to provide any further substance to this intriguing line of conversation left me immediately hungry for more. So rarely was my friend willing to share much about himself with me on the personal level that I craved. Rather than jumping at the bate wriggling so temptingly before me, I decided to be patient, perhaps he would reveal more, if I didn't seem overwhelmingly desperate.

I had been quite lonesome after Holmes death, and even after my poor Mary passed away, I fear I had done her a disservice. I never stopped mourning for my dear companion, and everyday though I had worn the customary black band around my arm in respect for my late wife, I was haunted by images of Holmes disappearing over Reichenbach falls rather than Mary falling into a peaceful eternal sleep.

Even now, with Holmes a regular fixture in my life once more, I felt now more than ever an unfamiliar and urgent yearning to become more intimate with my dear friend. Sometimes, when he slipped into his dark moods I felt more lonesome than I had before when I thought him dead. It was frustrating that nothing I could do could make him see that he could trust me! He couldn't trust me with the knowledge of his survival for three long, agonizing years, and still after regaining my trust, I could never have his.

It was this point that frustrated curiosity dawned into a sort of suspicion. Why would Holmes bring up such a point now if at all? Was he in love? Did he refuse to speak further due to the object of such affections being an irresponsible or improper choice? Or did he simply mean to correct my perception of him as being immune to the softer emotion? Either way, I was inclined to begin my own investigation to find out.

Fortuitously, that same evening I had been invited to attend a lecture on Eugenics at St. Bart's. The lecture was unfulfilling, and I found myself to be quite disturbed at the idea of breeding out less admirable traits in favour of purposefully breeding in those deemed more desirable by society. It gave me chills to imagine humans playing god in such a fashion (6). Fortunately the conversation I had later at supper with some fellow doctors made the night quite worthwhile.

"So have any of you read the article on Sexual Inversion that was published recently?"

"I have a copy, but have not yet looked into its contents. Is it worthwhile? Or more like those other sensationalist studies based on unsubstantiated information we get all the time?"

"I find it utterly distasteful. After that disgusting lecture, I am quite convinced that Havelock Ellis is a godless heathen!"

A waiter came around to the table about this time, and served us our first round of drinks.

"What does it say?" I inquired as I sipped my bourbon and water.

"It details Homosexuality, and states that is in fact not a disease of the brain! Can you imagine such twaddle?"

The doctor at the end of the table cleared his throat. Up until now, I had barely taken notice of the chap. His spectacles sat low on his nose and his mustache was as thick as a commander in the German regiment.

"I think, it is rather well stated, this pamphlet, Dr. Fischer."

"You don't mean to say that you agree with this?" Protested the Doctor in question.

"I agree on several points, others I can't say I'm well informed enough to dispute. But I do think it is high time we move past such old fashioned condemnation, and move forward. I put to you that enlightenment is progress. We are after all, sitting on the precipice of a new century, gentleman."

"Well said, Granger."

After the majority of us had cleared out to head home for the evening, I stopped Dr. Granger just as he was about to catch a cab.

"Dr. Granger, do you happen to have that Ellis pamphlet on you? I have not yet read it, and would very much like to."

"Certainly, here, let me pull it out of my bag for you," the doctor responded accommodatingly fetching the pamphlet from his medical bag, "Dr. Watson, it was a pleasure talking with you tonight, I have for some time been interested in meeting you. I am especially admiring of your great affinity for fairness in the recording of accurate observation, as I have seen from your writings on Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you have considered composing a treatise on your medical work as criminal surgeon? I'd be very interested in reading one."

"Thank you, Dr. Granger I am certainly flattered that you think so. I must indeed consider writing one, even if only you have interest in reading it." I said utterly charmed.

"I'd much appreciate if we could speak again, as it is so rare that I find another reasonable intelligent person to communicate my thoughts with."

"I would not be opposed, my good man!" Shaking his hand farewell, we exchanged addresses of our surgeries, hailed cabs, and went our separate ways.

After reading, and then rereading the pamphlet, I felt a bit uneasy. For some reason, the article's topic struck a cord in me I was loathe to examine.

I tried with very little success to squash the anxious voice that seemed to be shouting with resonating clarity in my head that Holmes was a sexual invert! It would explain so many different elements of his peculiar personality. But it would inevitably tear away all my fundamental preconceived beliefs about the man.

A deep aching fear clung inside my chest.

What if he was? If I knew this for fact, how could I then justify continuing our current living situation under one roof? Would this now be highly inappropriate?

I replayed in my head every intimate moment, every fond word and affectionate gesture shared between us, trying hard to not allow these thoughts be twisted by my new perception of my dear friend into something less wholesome.

As sick as I felt in my gut, a strange blossoming and completely unnamable excitement also grew.

I watched Holmes more closely than I ever had previously that night, noting and rationalizing his every move. He seemed oblivious to my scrutiny, and was very much engulfed in his own studies. A simultaneous wave of relief and (disappointment?) passed through me.

That evening as I bade Holmes a goodnight, he looked up at me, and I saw for a hair of a second an amused and querying expression cross his otherwise stoic features.

So he had noticed my study of him and masked himself from me!

Truly, I must have been forming a most paranoid obsession. For days Holmes and I seemed to dance around each other; or rather Holmes seemed to parry my persistent watching of his person with extra nonchalance and avoidance.

Finally, I recalled my friend Dr. Granger, and sent out a missive that I was interested in joining him for lunch. Happily, I received a confirmative reply within a short time, and was off to meet him.

After arriving at the café, I was led to the booth, where Dr. Granger was already sipping a brandy.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Watson, it was a pleasure to hear from you today, I was very much looking forward to visiting with you again!" Dr Granger said warmly, grasping my hand in a firm handshake, "I sense for some reason, you are not doing well, my friend? If it is not imprudent of me to ask, whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing to be overly concerned about, my friend."

"Rubbish! You may be straightforward me! It may ease your mind to have a friendly ear." Dr. Granger argued.

I relented and heaved a weary sigh.

"I've been doing a lot of heavy thinking of late, and not come to a whole lot of welcome solutions, if they are in fact solutions at all," I replied in a subdued manner, distractedly swishing my Chianti about its glass.

"Are they so unwelcome, or are they perhaps unfamiliar? Occasionally the new shoe is uncomfortable, even though it's the right fit. Maybe you need to walk around in these new shoes, before you decide for sure." The doctor patted my hand reassuringly and finished down his glass of wine.

"How is it you are so perceptive?" I asked suspiciously.

"I've been there." He responded with a knowing heavy lidded smile.

I did enjoy Dr. Granger's effusive personality, as it was such a stark contrast to the usual disposition of my other companion, but I was a bit unnerved and self conscious that his heavy hand still remained closed over the top of my own. I didn't want to pull my hand away and offend the gentleman, for I respected him and didn't want to embarrass myself by looking the fool.

We remained like this at least for another minute, him quietly regarding me with his intensely warm gaze, and me withering in my chair, my face growing hot, and my hand beginning to tingle, as my brain attempted to sever it from my body so I wouldn't have to figure out how to remove it.

"I confess when first you asked me for that pamphlet, I had wondered what your interest was, but now that you are here and admitting to me… well, my friend, I am certainly here for you, if you should wish to walk around in these new shoes, for once they are worn around a couple times, you'll find them to be exquisitely comfortable, and you'll wonder how you ever tried anything else." To my immense horror, the doctor raised my hand from the table, and as he did so I felt myself unable to pull away, so instead attempted to avert my eyes from his, when I felt the touch of his lips to the palm of my hand in what could have been nothing else but an invitation to his bed.

As soon as I recovered my senses I snapped away my hand and glanced around furiously, hoping we had gone unobserved. Much to my relief I recognized we were in a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, which was largely uncrowded.

"My friend, am I mistaken…?" Dr. Granger asked suddenly, with a look of great anxiety.

I nodded, shaken, "You are, sir."

"I shouldn't have presumed upon you in such a fashion, I had just assumed that we were of sympathetic mindsets. Oh Dash! I was grossly boorish; you must tell me how I can make it up to you."

Suddenly I felt a wave of sympathy wash away my initial revulsion, as I observed the doctor looking quite upset and repentant.

"Understanding that I am most certainly not myself of such persuasion, could you perhaps explain yours to me?" I chanced, attempting bravado, when really I was a mess of rattled nerves.

Granger examined me with a look of befuddled amusement and relief, "certainly if you are indeed interested, perhaps here is not the most appropriate of places? There are still those who are brutish enough to hand my kind over to the authorities at the slightest inkling of difference."

We had made our way back to his surgery past Covent Gardens, and were now leisurely enjoying tea and conversing as we had been before.

"So there are no clear methods of determining…?"

"No, but I postulate to you this: should you attempt to kiss the man in question, were he to respond, then you would have your answer, for no man in his right senses of such inclination would not take a liking to you, Doctor."

I blushed deeply, "I really wish you wouldn't say things like that, it makes me rather uncomfortable."

"You are too modest!" Granger refuted in my defense, "but you came here seeking an answer and I will give you one. If you are speaking of your odd detective friend, which it seems you evidently are (he glanced at me and took in my look of shock, which undoubtedly confirmed his suspicions), I will say only this, if ever a man were an invert, he's your man."

I dragged a hand over my face, "Lord, but that complicates matters."

"I know how you can find out." Granger offered suddenly, stroking his moustache thoughtfully, "that Ellis pamphlet on Sexual Inversion! Why, lay it somewhere where he is bound to find it, and that he may realize it was left there quite purposely for him to find!"

Taking his suggestion, I did just that. I set the pamphlet upon his chair and sat in my own. Then, I readied myself for my friend's anger, and awaited his return.

He swooped in at a quarter past 4, tossing his hat by the door, and entered the drawing room. Immediately he noticed the foreign article insidiously resting on his chair.

"Well now, what have we here?" Holmes furrowed his brow and swiftly plucked the pamphlet from the seat and gave it a brief once over. Though his back was turned toward me I could read an enveloping discomfort by the stiffening of his posture. Holmes swung around to face me with a most peculiar and unreadable expression.

"This most certainly isn't here by happenstance! Is this an inquiry, accusation or confession?" He accused.

I refrained from replying and leaned back in my chair, steeling myself against his immense temper.

"Ha! Then you have systematically narrowed down the symptoms and arrived at this diagnosis, Doctor? Well done." He must have noticed my look of confusion, but for a minute was unable to speak, and instead began to pace a circuitous path around our drawing room.

"Allow me to clarify my praise. Aside from your audacity and apparent disregard for my privacy, I applaud your brilliant application of my methods, Watson."

With that, he turned away from me and stalked over to the mantel where with shaking hands he tucked a healthy bit of shag into his pipe.

"Holmes, I know you're a private man, and I don't ask you to tell me those secrets which might endanger you or your clients. But it pains me greatly that after so many years as your partner and friend, that you have such a great degree of mistrust where I'm concerned. I simply ask for the truth." I responded with a placating tone. Holmes glanced down at me from where he stood, with his elbow perched upon the mantel, and then looked quickly away again.

"People are hung sometimes for speaking the truth, Watson.(7)" With a chagrined frown, Holmes collapsed down in his chair and held a lit match to his pipe.

"You needn't be so dramatic. I am neither packing my bags, nor am I alerting Scotland Yard." I chuckled softly and tried to lift my friend out of his brooding. Holmes exhaled a plume of thick smoke.

"Not yet you aren't."

I was caught off guard by this fowl blow to my person. I shook my head,

"If you believe that I would do such a thing, then you can hardly consider me your friend." Holmes had coldly met my indignation with acutely hurtful words on a number of occasions. Long since I had learned to parry his attacks with calm resignation.

"Doctor, it's not uncommon knowledge that you are the very model of a law abiding English gentleman. How can one of such crystalline morality give way to the deviance in his closest companion? Could you ever again afford me the same level of easy camaraderie now that you know where my preferences lie?"

Holmes chanced a look at me that was both terrified and petulant.

A light blush rose in my cheeks just considering what he was implying.

Holmes noticed my discomfort immediately, and pursed his lips into a tight satisfied smile. He tried to mask the faltering in his voice, but a sadness seemed to soften the edge of his acid tone, "Should you now be my judge, jury and executioner?"

"Holmes, not once have I ever known you to be amoral, or do anything that wasn't fair or just."

"Moral men aren't at risk of being sent to the stocks, Doctor!" Holmes spat. There was no reasoning with him!

"Why do you remain convinced that I'm going to turn you in? Your brand of deviancy is such that it harms none and yet still remains criminal, which I have never considered fair. And you know that very well when I voiced my disapproval at Wilde's harsh sentencing back last year! You needn't collapse into a panic because of me, Holmes!"

" Regardless of your assurances that this is a trifling issue which you have no interest in turning me in over or socking me in the eye for, I had the strongest possible objections to you ever finding this out about me, and am feeling at the moment quite anxious for some space without distraction. So if we are quite finished, I must insist Doctor, Goodnight, and close the door on your way out."

I said nothing else, and turned to depart, as Holmes tapped out his pipe and picked up his Strad. I carefully closed the door behind me and left for my room to the sound of Holmes scraping away a frenetic bastardized version of Sarasate's Zigeunerweisen.

The next day after finishing with my morning ablutions, I came down stairs to find Holmes already gone. I had expected as much after the poor conclusion to last night's confrontation.

I went about my daily errands and considered stopping by my surgery to speak to my receptionist about ordering the new curtains for the waiting room she was so insistent upon. Attempting to refocus my cyclical thoughts on last night to curtain patterns was distracting enough when quite out of nowhere I was smashed into by a young man apparently fleeing from the custody of a police officer also running in my direction.

Instinctually, I whipped around and snagged the fellow by the collar of his coat. With an animated shriek, he elbowed me catching me below the ribs thereby freeing himself.

The blow had been light enough to knock the wind from me, but hardly enough to justify such an easy release of my captive. By the time the officer arrived, the young man had made an efficient getaway.

"Whoa, there! Are you alright?" The officer concernedly set a hand upon my shoulder.

"I think I shall live. Did that hoodlum get away?"

"Yes, but not for long, there's another officer circuiting the block as we speak. He'll undoubtedly nab the brat. Here you are." I smiled in thanks as he dusted off my hat that had been knocked off in the tussle and handed it back to me, "I can bet he's picked more than his share of pockets today, the little thief. Why, hallo! Aren't you Doctor Watson?"

I nodded, "I am, indeed."

"Excellent! It's quite an honor to meet you! I read your stories about Detective Holmes in the Strand all the time! How is the bloke? I haven't seen him around Scotland Yard for some time now. He must be working on some special private case!"

I hesitated at the mention of Holmes, and wracked my memory trying to figure out his most recent case, but came up dry. I had been so taken up with my own investigation of my friend that I had barely paid attention to whether or not he had taken on any new cases.

Deciding to scrap the idea of heading all the way over to my practice I decided to head back home for the day, making note to apologize to Holmes post haste. How could I have missed Holmes on a case without me? Of course I should be hard pressed to think that he would be wanting for my company after my sore treatment of him!

How could I have forced him to admit this private part of his life to me? It wasn't my business, and I acted regretfully. I know Holmes relinquished small bits of himself to me when he desired to, and I shouldn't have been so indignant about his preference for secrecy on this matter! Of course he should think he would have to! Most men of such predilection don't bandy about town alerting everyone to their lifestyle aside for the dandy's with their green carnations tucked into their lapels(the notion of Holmes as such a character was quite laughable). He had to be more careful than anyone considering his line of work.

Much to my relief I saw that Holmes was back home sitting in his chair studying some papers in his lap. He looked up when I entered with a bit of weariness, which transformed into sudden amusement.

"You had an eventful morning I perceive."

"Really," I responded with some amount of levity. It was a good sign that he was acting himself again, so I humored him, "I can't imagine what makes you think so."

"On your way to your practice, you apparently collided with a pickpocket. You had a nice chat with a kindly officer and then decided that your receptionist could wait on new curtains, because you had some sort of revelation which made you realize you needed to speak with me post haste! I should say your pickpocket pulled quite the fast one on you."

"As usual you are right on most of that account but as for the pickpocket pulling anything on me-"

"Check the inside of your coat pocket, Doctor."

"My wallet! Holmes-"

"Fear not, Watson," Holmes replied with a hint of a grin, as he tossed me my wallet.

"But how…?"

"My dear fellow, did it occur to you that perhaps I was on a case this morning? I went down to the docks early to investigate some missing crates for a young entrepreneur who has been suffering the worst luck with some valuable shipments from Africa that persistently disappear. I was disguised as a dock worker, and attempted to pick a most important note from the pocket of my man, when he spun around and just nearly caught me. Of course he immediately sent the officers after me, and they pursued me for at least 4 or 5 blocks before I could make my slip. You just happened about at the most uncanny time, and I couldn't help myself."

"Holmes, really, I just about had a fit!" I played indignant, but couldn't have been more relieved to have Holmes in a good mood.

"Do you forgive me?"

"I suppose I must, after all. Still though, the whole bit about the curtains you couldn't possibly have known."

"Nonsense, it was simple, you received a note yesterday from your receptionist complaining about the shabby state of your window dressings."

"You read my mail?" I asked, suddenly irritated.

"Really Watson, you hardly have room to be upset about a little note, when you yourself demand information of a much more personal nature from me."

"Touché. Though, now that we are on that subject…about last night, perhaps my approach was a bit imprudent–"

"It is quite put aside, old fellow. I myself said some things that were quite unworthy of you. Though I would like some further clarification on a couple details, if you'd humour me."

"Certainly," I responded curiously.

"You are not so terribly perturbed as I had assumed you'd be, so what inspired you to so fervidly extract this confession…and where now, do we stand?"

"Holmes, you are no different now than you were before to me. Nothing has changed between us."

Holmes quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward in his chair folding his hands upon his lap. I felt for a moment as a rabbit must under the scrutiny of a circling hawk.

"That's all very well, yet you have skirted around my original question which I shall rephrase: What compelled you to ask this of me? I mean, beyond my eccentricities and what you deem to be my misogynistic views on women, what on earth led you to this conclusion?"

"To be perfectly forthright, Holmes, there was little to convince me other than your peculiar statement a few weeks back. You claimed you were not in fact, the automaton I had painted you to be, which led me to believe you had been previously attempting to impression me into believing you weren't capable of softer emotions in order to distract me away from wondering about your lack of feeling toward women. At the time I was under the assumption you had at last fallen in love, but under further examination, I observed no frequent visitors, mention of anyone in particular, nor social activity suggestive of this."

"So applying my methods, you eliminated the obvious…" Holmes interjected.

"It did occur to me that perhaps you were in love with someone whom was unmoved by your advances, or perhaps even unavailable."

Holmes grinned in a queer off-putting manner, "Ah, unrequited love!"

"More specifically I thought perhaps you were going to tell me that long ago, in the Bohemia Scandal you had lost your heart to the wiles of Ms. Adler."

Holmes tossed back his head and let out a hearty laugh, "Indeed! This is quite entertaining, do continue, Watson!"

"I tossed this out because it was absurd. Had you been enamored with Ms. Adler, surely you would have pursued her, easily winning her hand from her far less compelling little chap she ended up with."

"Do you think so? I'm flattered."

"Finally, after I attended a lecture on Eugenics at St. Barts, a few of us went out to dine afterward and I became involved in a conversation about Dr. Ellis's study on Sexual Inversion–"

"That explains the scintillating pamphlet. Really, there was so much I didn't even know about myself," Holmes interjected somewhat acerbically.

I ignored this and continued, "I believed that at the time, for some unknown purpose you had resolutely decided to tell me, yet at the last moment, your nerve faltered and you lost your resolve."

"Fascinating, I shall make note to be more careful around you from now on, Doctor, you have quite picked up my knack for this sort of thing. I'm just surprised you hadn't figured me out when I made that irresponsible decision to give you that book of Catullus."

"Ahah! So there was an ulterior motive behind that choice of literature!" I accused jokingly.

Holmes missing the humour went quite ashen and responded very seriously, "Not at all, Doctor, there was never any message meant behind that, I assure you."

"Of course not, don't be daft, Holmes! I know that you have no intentions toward me." I stated reassuringly.

"None whatsoever," he responded quickly, regaining some of the color in his pallid cheeks.

"Then are we alright?

"I should think so."

"Then, we should speak no more of it. On another note, you did manage of course to outsmart Scotland Yard. And you implied that you managed to obtain this important note of yours, so your case is going well?"

"I should say it went well as it was wrapped up shortly before you arrived home. It was quite an ordinary solution and far less deserving of my attention than it had originally been presented to be. Nothing you'd be interested in chronicling, my dear Boswell."

"Very well, though, you will include me in the future…?"

"I intend to. In fact, just before you arrived home, another case presented itself in the form of an invitation to a Pemberley home in Charing Cross tomorrow afternoon. I was hoping you would accompany me."

"I'd be delighted."

I contentedly joined Holmes in having a cigarette and looked forward to the next day with pleasure.

TBC. C&C if you please. (STAY TUNED! The mystery is JUST about to unfold. Quite possibly with a dash of loooove.) I shall update asap.

NOTES:

1.) In 1918, this would put Holmes and Watson at about 66 and 64 respectively, in accordance with the Canon's chronology.

2.) Mrs. Hudson died of old age in 1917, generously leaving the famous den, in a shared lease between Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes. The building is in actuality owned by Portman Estate since the 16th c. Holmes must be referring to inheritance of the primary lease, and not the actual ownership of the property. Therefore, they had sublet from Mrs. Hudson.

3.) It is quite a subject of interest if Holmes had a hand in the purchase of Watson's practice, via his distant Vernet relation.

4.) A variety of Iranian silk. Mycroft was rather inclined to hedonistic excess as this fabric would have been quite costly to cover an entire chair frame with.

5.) See CHAS for details of this case.

6.) Watson seems to strike on a bit of prophetic wisdom here, as Eugenics was frequently used as justification for state-wide discrimination among certain ethnicities, providing an easy gate-way rationalization to the Holocaust later in WWII

7.) Quote from Joan of Arc


	2. Chapter 2

The next day Holmes and I sat at the table sharing breakfast as usual. Holmes poured himself another coffee and offered me one as well, though I politely declined. Our American cousins may have delighted in this morning ritual of imbibing such a potent wakeup serum, but I preferred my Queen and Country's calming effect of tea instead. For my nerves were yet in need of some amount of soothing as had become habit since Maiwand.

I opened my silver case engraved with my initials(1) and offered Holmes a cigarette which he gladly accepted. Holmes favored me with a charming little smile as he lit his and leaned over the table to light mine as well.

"I am thrilled you have decided to join me on this errand of mine today. I hate when cases necessitate me going outside of my consulting room, and as you seem to be a fixture of sorts, I am always much more at ease with you by my side." Holmes said affably.

"Oh, so I'm like your chair, or your pipe?" I teased.

Holmes shrugged dismissively, "I suppose."

He adamantly refused on so many occasions to acknowledge his reliance on my companionship though it was clear that he often did, therefore it always warmed me when he would briefly allude to his attachment in passing.

"So, what have we on our hands for the day, Holmes?" I asked.

Holmes pulled the invitation out from inside his vest, which hinted at his having just studied it and handed it to me.

"Apparently, we have a young man from Charing Cross who is beside himself with concern for his wife. Days ago she received an anonymous gift for her birthday which revealed a small gold nightingale locket. The trinket upset her quite considerably and now she is bedridden with nervous fever. My services have been enlisted to figure out this threat that now seems to plague the young couple. Watson, what else can you deduce from this letter?"

I glanced it over, and searched the paper for any evident clues, as I so often have seen my friend do.

"Well the paper seems to have a watermark, and is about regular ply for personal letter composing, so I would say they are probably middle class. It smells like some sort of perfume, so perhaps it is of the young lady's issues, and the writing seems rushed and rather careless. Obviously, Mr. Pemberley is quite concerned after the welfare of his wife." I replied, proud of my deductions.

"Yes, but all these are quite elementary to even the most common observer. We know this is a young man by the style of the script, for it has a rather modern flare especially seen among the lads at Cambridge. Therefore we know he is well educated. He is most likely more of an emotional than intellectual creature which we can perceive hidden in the arcs of the closed 'a', and is most likely an apprenticing architect due to the style of his numbers well drawn out in a highly technical fashion that seems to contrast with the rest of his script. You can see by the worried edge of the paper and the worn fold in the center that the young man had written this letter days before making his mind up to send it, and had carried it around with him in a leather briefcase alongside the object of so much anxiety. For the letter also smells slightly of ash, perhaps we can conclude that in a fit of momentary rage the trinket was thrown in the hearth and retrieved later by the young man, as he realized it may be a key to unlocking the secret behind his wife's psychosis. He also frequently smokes cigarettes."

"Why would he wait to send the letter if he is so concerned about his wife?" I pointed out.

"That, I won't know until I meet the lad."

Arriving at the Pemberley's on Charing Cross we were emitted into a lovely yet modest second floor flat, and were immediately greeted by the young man. He was decently handsome, with wide concerned eyes, fortunate bone structure, and of excellent proportion. He energetically shook both of our hands.

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, thank you so much for coming here."

"It was certainly no inconvenience," I said, amiably.

Holmes gave me a sidelong glance, as if implying otherwise.

"You would like to see her right away?" Mr. Pemberley asked.

"Thank you, no. I should rather ask you a few questions first."

"Of course, can I offer you anything to drink first?"

We both took him up on his offer, and he set off for the other room.

"No maid to wait on us. Large drawings spread across the table. A class ring on his last finger left hand next to a gold wedding band. There is also a gray stain under the cuff, and ink stains on the inside of the index finger. He is an apprenticing architectural draftsman, and he met his wife at Newnham College for Women of Cambridge(2)."

"You are correct on every point, Mr. Holmes," Pemberley answered with some awe upon entering the room with two tea cups, "I've read many of Dr. Watson's accounts, though it's of course a wonder to see it in person."

We all settled into our respective seats.

"Were you on the rowing team?" Holmes inquired arching a brow while sipping his tea.

"I was captain!" The young man replied proudly.

"Tell me how you met your wife." Holmes replied seriously.

"Well, Anna Winston attended the women's sister college, as you already know, and to be honest, I ran into her one day, quite literally. I was late for a meeting with a professor. I was darting toward his office across campus, and I ungentlemanly bowled over the loveliest girl I'd ever seen. Well, after making profuse apologies, we ended up talking for quite awhile. I confess I was in love with her in no amount of time, and proposed after a few months into courting. We could hardly wait for so many formalities and introductions, so we decided to elope secretly and wed officially later."

"You have more you'd like to tell me?" Holmes asked.

"Yes, Anna of course, was, charming and intelligent and very kind. Though after the tragedy she was never quite-"

"Tragedy!" Holmes ejaculated, "Of course! You must tell me about this right away!"

Taken aback, Mr. Pemberley cleared his throat, "I was about to-"

"Well do not dawdle, man! Out with it!" Holmes demanded, eyes alit.

"You see when we informed her family we were affianced, immediately they sent us both an invitation in order to make proper acquaintance. Though, we were already truly man and wife, I still intended to follow all the appropriate steps and ask her father for his daughter's hand. When we arrived in Derbyshire, his parent's warmly embraced me, though I shortly noticed another figure lingering somewhat behind the Winston's. I was quite astounded to be faced suddenly with the very mirror image of the woman standing beside me."

"Hmm, she and her sister are identical."

"Yes, though, where Anna had a bright effusive warmth, her sister had none. Before me stood a dour slumping version of the woman tightly holding my hand. Her name was Agatha. I was startled, for my wife had never once mentioned that she had a sibling let alone a twin! After meeting her, I was less surprised Anna had never mentioned her before. Their relationship was… less than congenial."

Mr. Pemberley poured himself another cup and continued,

"Anna told me Agatha resented her. While growing up, she had been the more successful one; the clever and pretty girl her parents had proudly displayed to their friends, where Agatha had sat quietly, ignored for her lesser abilities. Where Anna had the privilege to attend college, Agatha remained at home. Well, anyway, during our stay Anna attempted civility with her sister, but Agatha seemed to respond only with cold courtesy at best. Queerly, she couldn't have been more agreeable toward me. In fact, had I not been so disconcerted by her poor treatment of my wife, I should have been quite charmed by the woman. One day, much to the astonishment of the elder Winston's and myself, the sisters announced they were going out for a walk."

"I suspect we're finally getting to the point," Holmes impatiently remarked.

"Yes, well, needless to say, I know very little about what occurred other than a dispute of sorts. We never saw Agatha after that day. Anna said they fought and Agatha ran away from her, of course you know the terrain the Dovedale area of Derbyshire, with the rocks and the limestone gorge. There were search parties sent out for days, but they returned with nothing. It seemed as if she simply vanished off the face of the earth!"

"Hardly," Holmes grumbled, "but do continue."

Mr. Pemberley pulled out and lit a cigarette, "Well, the Winston's maintain some amount of hope, but Anna and I rather sadly have decided poor Agatha has met her maker, for she was never terribly clever, and quite spoilt. She would hardly last a second outside the protection of her home for too long, even if she had run away."

"This is Anna's conclusion." Holmes corrected.

"Well she seems convinced of it, and is thusly quite affected, regardless of their lack of closeness; there is a certain bond twins share… Anna has never been quite the same person since. Of course we delayed the marriage ceremony out of respect for the Winston's but we were shortly wed just three months ago before friends and family. At last we moved in together at this flat I acquired for us."

Holmes seemed to smile queerly to himself as if he possessed some secret he daren't speak, "She is different now than she was before the incident?"

"Oh, yes. For one she's often forgetful, distracted…sad and strangely distant in her eyes, though her actions are as effusive and affectionate as ever. When I try to engage her on a topic she feigns sleepy or ill."

"It's as if she's at one moment Anna, and another moment a stranger?"

"That's exactly it."

I immediately saw what Holmes was getting at. Was the woman laying ill in just the other room actually Agatha? Quite a disturbing prospect for the young man, should this be the case.

"On her birthday recently she was sent an anonymous package which contained the locket you now hold in that case by your chair?"

Pemberley looked at Holmes with some wonder, "you really are the devil they say you are! How could you have possibly have ascertained that?"

"Does it matter?" Holmes asked impassively.

"I suppose not," Pemberley eyed my friend wearily, "I should show it to you."

"Indeed." Holmes pondered turning the thing over, rubbing a handkerchief along the nightingale engraving. He sniffed the cloth, and then asked, "May I see your wife?"

"Yes, but for god's sake don't show her that necklace."

We were both led into a darkened room that reeked of some sort of scented toilet water, and medicinal herbs.

Upon the bed lay a young woman with a sallow complexion and dark rings beneath eyes, fitfully tossing in a fevered dream state.

"Our doctor says she has no actual ailment that he can ascertain, that her problems must be purely psychological. I wish dearly to be back with the woman I married, sirs, if you can understand, I'll do anything to help clear this dark cloud that has settled over my wife. If this locket is indeed the key to her madness, then I confess I am in the dark, for I've never seen the damned thing before."

The young woman shuddered in her sleep before suddenly awaking and glaring at the three of us with a wild expression, "I am dead! I am dead!"

"My dear, why do say such things?" the young man knelt at her bedside, comfortingly brushing his fingers through her untamed mass of hair.

Holmes also knelt beside her, and pulled from his coat the locket. For a moment, she didn't respond, then suddenly she recognized it and howled a bone rattling shriek before violently knocking the offending object from his hands. With a loud clank it hit the floor releasing the clasping mechanism. Though it was empty, this seemed to upset the young woman even more greatly. She burst out in wracking sobs against the chest of her husband.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone!" She cried shaking her fists at some phantom only she could see.

When we settled the young woman down again, we carefully exited, and Mr. Pemberley gingerly turned to face Holmes, "I wish you hadn't excited her so."

Holmes dropped the locket back into his possession.

"You must understand that you have hired me to help you. I can't help you if you disallow me the freedom to exercise my methods in the fashion that I deem necessary." Holmes exclaimed petulantly like an artist in defense of his nouveau approach.

We left the Pemberley home that evening thoroughly rattled. At least I was, for Holmes was a study in concentration, while I couldn't rid myself of the startling image of that unfortunate creature raving in delirium while her devastated young man sat in vigil, powerless to calm her.

"She is suffering from an acute guilty conscience, that much is obvious." Holmes replied, quite clearly having read my thoughts, "The woman is not our young man's wife, though she has acted the role quite convincingly. We must now wonder whether she is devilish enough to have purposefully or accidentally killed her sister. I'm intrigued by the anonymous individual who sent the locket. What is the threat Agatha perceives by this mere trinket? A ghost? A blackmailer, or someone perhaps bent on revenge?" Holmes posed.

In his excitement Holmes had unconsciously drifted closer to me in the cab, his knee pressed against my own, and his hand settled upon my forearm. Had I not been recently informed of his proclivities this shouldn't have flustered me so. When Holmes is on a case that inspires him, he becomes enlivened, and infinitely more engaging. He even becomes attractive–– for his angular cheeks become infused with a blush, and his gray eyes seem to sparkle like the cresting waves of the ocean. His effusiveness inspires me to equal excitement, but now the excitement much to my dawning horror seemed to be focusing in an altogether new and unwelcome place. I shifted away from him, and he immediately froze and withdrew,

"I'm sorry, I forgot myself," he expressed, losing all color from his face, shifting to the furthest corner of his seat.

"Not at all, of course!" I responded. I could see from the corner of my eye Holmes slipping into a tense anxiety, and I mentally cursed myself. I had tried to prevent him from observing my own embarrassing state, thus instead leading him to think I had been offended by his perceived advances!

I left him that night grimly pondering over the case, while I retired for some much needed sleep. What foggy headed thoughts had inspired such a disturbing reaction in me? It must have been the excitement of the new case and my coming to terms with my new strange knowledge of Holmes. Nothing more serious than that. I've women all across the globe that can vouch for me, and I was happily married for two years! I am not attracted to my friend!

With that thought I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

NOTES

1\. Perhaps this cigarette case was gift from Holmes?

2\. Sister College of Cambridge which admitted females beginning in 1870, though they could attend selected lectures only and were not able to obtain a degree. This would hardly have affected them anyhow, since women were disallowed from many professions.


	3. Chapter 3

The following morning I was awoken by a loud rap upon my door. I groaned as I noticed it was still just before sunrise.

"Watson, get dressed! We have work to do!"

"What, the games afoot so early?" I replied, bitterly tossing my coverlet off and bracing myself for the rush of invading cold.

"We're off to Derbyshire, so wear something practical. We'll be outside before we drop in for a brief interview with the Winston's."

I decided to don my typical traveling suit, which Mary had purchased for me several years ago. She had decided it was of an extremely handsome cut and perfectly practical in it's utility for cavorting around on all manner of cases with Holmes. I smiled, recalling my sweet Mary. Where as Holmes had always imposed himself upon my wife by calling me away at any given time, Mary had never objected, and in fact had encouraged me to assist my friend whenever I was required. Sometimes I wondered still at her strange and generous nature.

I have always maintained the notion that women are biologically inclined to inexplicable behaviours due to their god-given intuition.

When at last I exited my room I caught Holmes favoring me with an appreciative look before quickly glancing away. I blushed as I laid my carrying case on the settee. Why did I now have to read everything in terms of this infernal condition of his! Why should I flatter myself that Holmes would take such an interest in me: a widowed and crippled old army doctor, of all people! I furiously tried to flush such thoughts from my head as I looked over at my friend.

"Well, you seem to be suited and packed up, so shall I hail us a hansom while you're still coming to life?" Holmes asked, handing me a fresh warm cup upon a folded tea cosy, "We are to catch the 6:15 from Paddington to Buxton, then we will have a 15 mile journey to the Winston's place."

"Excellent, I should be able to sleep along the way!" I responded.

Fortunately the 6:15 Northbound had few travelers, and those it had kept fairly quiet in their cabins. I had a well-read novel lying across my lap that kept me occupied when I wasn't dozing. Holmes for his part was mostly preoccupied with scanning  _the Times_ for pieces of interest, most probably pouring over the Agony columns as usual.

For a time, between sleep I found myself drowsily watching my friend. There was something about the monotonous sight of him calmly studying that was extremely comforting.

So what if I found him to be attractive? It wasn't as if I was attracted to him, I clarified to myself. It wasn't as if I'd ever pursue anything in the remote chance that I did feel anything more for him anyway.

Hazy ponderings were called to an immediate halt when I found Holmes matching my intent gaze. Too surprised to react immediately I observed a peculiar examining look in his eye. He grinned cheekily at me before looking back down at his paper.

"See anything of interest?" Holmes teased.

I blushed ferociously, "you are quite intolerable, sometimes!"

I picked up my book and tried to hide behind it, while Holmes softly laughed.

We heard a tap upon the door of our cabin.

"Enter," Holmes sighed resentfully.

An elderly porter poked his head in, "Would either of you gents care for any hot tea? We also have toast and jam."

When the porter left, I supped my tea and looked at Holmes, who seemed to be in an entirely changed mood. For a time, we were silent.

Then, with his face completely turned away from me in favour of the view of the passing fields whirring by outside our window, Holmes spoke, "When we arrive at the Inn, I have made a pointed effort to obtain for us separate rooms…there will however be an adjoining door, will that cause any sort of problem for you?"

Feeling most awkward and indignant I replied, "Of course not. Why on Earth after living under the same roof with you should you think I'd have a problem? I've had enough of this Holmes, I've made it quite plain that I have no fears of you imposing yourself in any way on me, so-"

"Well maybe you should!" Holmes interjected, hotly.

I swallowed thickly before meeting his gaze. Which as soon as I managed he turned swiftly away looking quite distressed.

"Why?" I managed.

"Why shouldn't you?" Holmes countered, challenging me.

I slammed down my cup of tea on it's saucer with a notable clank.

"I should like to avoid a row with you in such a confined space, but if you persist I shall not think twice before slapping reason back into you, Holmes!" I shouted angrily, steeling myself for his biting retort. Instead he merely threw back his head and laughed.

"There's that famous bull pup (1), Doctor, I do believe you've bested me. Shall you forgive me my impertinence?" He awarded me a genuinely apologetic smile.

I sighed, "You wear me out, Holmes."

"I keep you on your toes and you love it, old Chap."

"Can I still hit you or would that mitigate any attempt at peace?"

Finally we arrived at the station in Buxton and set about to find some supper. By this time both Holmes and I were quite well rested and happily ready to stretch and walk around a bit. We dined at a local Inn nearby before finding ourselves a cabbie to transport us to Dovedale.

It was still early in the evening, with the sun shedding enough light on the dale to perform our brief investigation of the surrounding geography. We had nearly hour still to do this before we were to meet with the Winston's.

Through winding paths along rocky foothills we eventually made our way to a scenic valley. An evening mist was settling couched between the raised mounds of land blanketed in autumn red foliage.

I remarked once or twice on the striking beauty of the unique rock formations, while Holmes seemed lost in his own world, occasionally checking his compass while quickly scrawling out notes over his map.

"You remember my having closely examined Ms. Pemberley's locket?" Holmes suddenly mentioned.

"I do."

"I discovered it contained a small trace of soil, which seemed to be composed of elements of limestone and clay," Holmes bent down and scooped up a small sample of dirt and gravel, "See, Watson? The earth in these parts is the same make-up as that in the wing of the nightingale! This means our anonymous gift sender was here!"

Around an hour later I began to grow quite weary, limping more than usual. Holmes said nothing but lent me his arm, which I gratefully accepted.

"I think we've made some progress here. What say you, are you ready to head back toward the road?"

At last, we arrived at the Winston place, a quaint and well maintained estate. We were welcomed in by an old bald valet and led to a sitting room.

"Welcome, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, my wife and I were quite upset after receiving your telegram yesterday. Our son-in-law had not informed us that our daughter had fallen so ill!" Mr. Winston scowled looking pointedly at Holmes.

"Had I known the state of her health would be so affected by the loss of her sister- I should never have I allowed her to leave so soon! Why, I should be leaving for London at once!" Exclaimed Mrs. Winston, a tall attractive woman with a frown of anxiety sympathetic to her husband's.

"I must impress upon you at this time to make no rash decisions. It is all being handled in the most professional manner possible. I assure you by the end of this we will at the very least, have solved a few lingering questions about the unfortunate disappearance of your other daughter. For now, Ms. Pemberley is in the extremely competent hands of my associate Dr. Watson, here. She will be well looked after."

"You have my word of honour she will be taken good care of." I added.

"So what have you come here to learn from us, Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Winston inquired.

"I would like to ask you about a necklace. Specifically a golden locket with a nightingale engraving. Would you have seen a piece of jewelry of this description before?"

Mr. Winston shared a look with his wife, "Why we gave a matching set of necklaces to our daughters as children. They both contained a portrait of each girl placed on either side of the interior case."

"Did they wear them?" Holmes asked.

"In some form or another they always carried the lockets with them, I believe," responded Mrs. Winston.

Holmes stood up and thanked both of the Winston's for their time.

"Are you sure there is nothing else further we can help you with that would shed any light on this situation?" Mr. Winston asked, as we neared the door.

"No, I believe this is coming together quite well."

Much to my relief Holmes and I arrived very shortly in Ilam at our Inn- an attractive alpine-style lodge, with a warm interior, fire ablaze in the hearth of the lobby.

We were appointed to our rooms, where we all but collapsed after settling in. As I lay in a chair near the hearth, I heard a soft tap on my door.

"Watson, it's me, do you mind if I join you…"

"You're welcome to come in, the doors unlocked," I responded with a yawn as I wrapped my dressing gown about me, "you'll have to excuse me if I don't get up."

Holmes entered looking somewhat hesitant, "May I…" he pointed to the companion chair across from mine.

"Please." I invited.

Holmes eased himself into the chair somewhat awkwardly and seemed to be struggling with something he wanted to say. I frowned in anticipation hoping to heaven it was related to the case.

Sensing my discomfort, Holmes gifted me with a rare smile in attempt to alleviate the tension, "would you care to share a drink with me? I noticed you're favoring that wound of yours a bit tonight, and I felt guilty for dragging you along on that tedious walk today."

"Not at all Holmes, it was excellent exercise, fantastic scenery and even better company." I replied.

"If I was a young lady I believe this would be my cue to blush prettily." Holmes said teasingly.

I decided to ignore his nettling, and poured us both a healthy portion of brandy in the Inn's snifters we had absconded with from the dining room downstairs.

For awhile we sat contentedly in each other's company saying very little and drinking down a ways into the bottle of Courvoisier.

"You are the best man I know," Holmes suddenly admitted aloud. A high flush had set itself upon his cheek, and he seemed for a moment quite flustered, attempting to work out how his mouth had run away from him.

"I'm honoured you think so, though I admit to wishing you would say what prompted such sentiment," I responded, reflexively kneading the site of my old wound.

"You're the one constant in a world of utter chaos," Holmes gestured meaningfully at the heavens, then settled his hands upon his knees and leaned forward, "I forget where I am sometimes, but when I see you, I'm reminded of what I work for. I do what I do for the good that there is in the world, even if you're the only true source of it left to be found."

He gazed off into the flickering light of the hearth.

I was left utterly speechless and so profoundly touched, I could only manage to reach out and lay my hand upon the slimmer one lightly resting on the lap across from mine.

For the first time I truly regarded Holmes as the elegant creature he was. I regarded him warmly, holding his hand loosely in my own. Though he seemed to be resisting any type of response to my touch, I felt his heartbeat increase twofold.

"Watson, don't." He whispered sounding choked. He moved to stand up, but I held fast to his hand.

"Holmes, damn it, you're my dearest friend, and if I want to show you I care about you by holding your hand, or taking your arm, I will! I don't want this constant fear of crossing boundaries lingering between us just because you fear that I might misconstrue the action as something more than it is!" I exclaimed in defense of myself.

The flush across Holmes cheeks spread to engulf his entire face, "Watson, you can't understand this, but it can never be the same again. Had you not… had this not…if you still had thought me to be like you…then we wouldn't be having this conversation. I really must insist that you release my hand so that I can retire."

I sat back in my chair defeated and let go of his hand, "Very well, Holmes. Goodnight."

After Holmes departed to his own room, I poured myself the remainder of the Brandy, and sipped it slowly watching the embers die within the hearth.

NOTES:

1.) Initially in STUD when Holmes and Watson meet and exchange their personal vices, Watson claims to "keep a bull-pup", which may refer to his sometimes volatile temper.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again I had another fitful night. I dreamt strange disjointed dreams, startlingly in their eroticism. At one point I was being covered in a frenzy of light teasing kisses, which was undeniably pleasurable. Though I could not see who was the deliverer of such delight I felt hands too rough to be a woman's and heard a masterful voice that could only be that of Holmes.

I was shortly jarred awake by this, and lay panting in my bed. My God! What was coming over me? It was unsettling to say the least. No doubt it was induced by years of celibacy(1) and the adjustment to Holmes' peculiar announcement.

The journey back to London was mostly uneventful, for Holmes and I kept to ourselves, either reading or sleeping. The detective seemed to be mostly preoccupied, with which I assumed was mostly the case, though I was beginning to suspect he was thinking about me as well. Every so often I would catch him out of the corner of my eye looking at me with a thoughtful gaze.

With his ability to read a situation in it's entirety by a speck of dirt on a boot or a stain on a sleeve, I wondered with some amount of horror if he already knew about my conflicting feelings for him as of late. It was all I could do to not squirm in my seat to consider his reaction to my appalling dreams of last night if he could somehow divine them.

Later that night we were sitting in the drawing room by the hearth. I was reading, and Holmes was smoking his pipe fixedly staring into the fire with a furrowed brow. All of the sudden he hopped up from his chair and looked at me.

"Watson! Something most disturbing just occurred to me! I think we need to see the Pemberleys' post haste!"

We hailed a cab, and rode to Charing Cross with Holmes staring outside with a grim expression, nervously tapping his foot the entire way. When we arrived we saw several Scotland Yard officials already standing outside. There was broken glass on the ground of the alleyway and the window on the second floor apartment on the side of the building was shattered out.

"What's happened?" I demanded from Holmes who looked as if all of his worst fears had just come to fruition.

"I'm too late!" He muttered, as he left me to dash inside. The officials standing there attempted to halt him, but he quickly gave a hurried explanation that the Pemberleys' were his recent clients, and ran on in.

"What on earth happened here?" I anxiously asked one of the officers.

"A young woman threw herself from her bedroom, and broke her neck. She's already been carried inside, she lies there now in the upstairs sitting room."

"Suicide?" I asked, quite alarmed.

"It would seem so."

When I made my way inside to the sitting room I was greeted by Inspector Lestrade standing there with a grim expression beside an inconsolable Mr. Pemberley sitting on a chair with his face down in his hands.

Holmes was already pacing around examining the scene with some ferocity. I followed him into the bedroom, where he seemed to be inspecting the broken window. Finally he began to inspect the latch.

"This window was opened before her fall," He stated aloud, "forever Scotland Yard will fail to properly investigate the seen of a crime before slapping on a verdict! Suicide, indeed!" He bolted past me into the sitting room and looked pointedly at Mr. Pemberley.

"The window in your room was open! Why would it be open in November?" Holmes demanded. The tearful young man looked up at Holmes quite startled.

"I-I'm unsure. It hasn't been opened, I was only in there an hour ago, and she had been resting, it was closed when I was last in there!"

"Tell me what happened!" Holmes asked imperiously.

The young stammered, "I-I don't know! She was resting like I said, and then just a quarter of an hour ago she started shrieking and I heard a great crash, I was in the sitting room, here, and I immediately sprung up to go to her, but as soon as I opened the door I saw the window had been shattered, I immediately looked around, but as I did not see Anna, I feared the worst and-and went to the window. I found her dead on the ground below!"

Holmes turned from the young man and knelt down by the body covered by a sheet.

"Watson, did you bring your medical bag? I want you to look at something." Forceps

"Perhaps the young man, may be spared the sight, Holmes?" I suggested, looking concernedly at the young man who was now gawking at Holmes with some amount of horror.

"Right," he said after a moment, "Lestrade could you escort Mr. Pemberley to another room, please?"

"Once again taking over my investigations, while I'm demoted to taking orders from a non-official consulting detective! It never changes." Lestrade grumbled, leading the man downstairs, as Holmes whipped the sheet from the body.

"Watson I need you to check her throat. There seems to be some odd bulge, and I want to be sure it's not just clotting blood from her broken neck."

I knelt down and pulled my forceps from my bag. Prying open her jaw, I gingerly felt around with the instrument and stopped when I clinked into something that seemed to completely stop up her trachea. I clipped the tongs about the object and pulled it out. At last before us we beheld the golden nightingale locket!

When Mr. Pemberley was brought back up, Holmes looked at him with some amount of concern.

"Do you still have the locket? Do you mind if I see it?"

"I do Mr. Holmes, in my case by the table. But what does it matter now? That accursed thing was what drove my poor Anna to do herself in. I would like very much to smash it or throw it in the river and never see it again!" Mr.Pemberley responded, as he fetched the locket from his case. He handed it to my friend.

"Now what is all this about a locket?" Lestrade demanded looking perplexed and angry to be left out.

Pulling out the cloth with the other locket wrapped in it, Holmes held both up for both Lestrade and Mr.Pemberley to see.

"Mr. Pemberley, your wife is not dead. This woman lying here is, only she didn't commit suicide, she was murdered. And not by the fall, but by this twin locket here, Dr.Watson discovered lodged above her larynx."

Both men stood there and gawked at Holmes.

"What, but who–" Lestrade sputtered, "then who is this?"

Mr.Pemberley stood there swaying, shaking his head in denial looking quite overwhelmed, so I assisted him into a chair.

"This is Agatha Winston. Lestrade, I believe you have a murderer to apprehend." He brought Lestrade out of Mr. Pemberley's earshot, "You should be looking for a woman that is identical to our victim, do you comprehend?"

After handing over the evidence to the proper authorities we made our way back to Baker Street, with Holmes in more of a morose mood than ever I've seen him. I decided not to pry, and kept silent, waiting for Holmes to speak first.

"I was too late, Watson, I failed. I should have foreseen this to stop it before it happened. Not only do we have a woman dead, but another who should be dead, who sought revenge in the worse possible way. I have a feeling, my friend, that we should not be unprepared to make a return to Charing Cross much later this evening. I suspect the real Anna will be just bold enough to come back to the scene of the crime, hoping that everyone bought her game of making the victim look like she had committed suicide, she will attempt to now present herself to her husband."

When we arrived once more at Charing Cross we saw that the mess from the night before had been swept up. There were two officers keeping watch, stationed around the building. We snuck back through the alley way and hid discreetly behind a jutting spiral staircase behind the apartment complex. We lingered for nearly an hour. With mounting anxiety I had begun to think Holmes had guessed wrong about our murderer's intentions. I was just about to tell him this, when Holmes shushed me and grabbed my arm, "Look just now, Watson! We have our quarry!"

Indeed, a lurking figure cloaked head to toe in a long black robe began to climb the remote emergency escape ladder on the side of the building, just before she had reached the window she removed what appeared to be some sort of picklock device which she managed to quietly and carefully maneuver into the sill of the window while balancing herself with a crowbar jutted into the brick mortar. Before she could finish her job, Holmes and I crept beneath her. Softly my friend cleared his throat just loud enough for her to hear. Startled she looked down, and nearly dropped her picklock. I ducked out of the way just in case she decided lose her balance and drop the crowbar.

"Anna Pemberley, I believe it is time to come down. You must not alarm your husband for he is sleeping after a trying day…you see the woman he thought was his wife was murdered by the woman he thought was dead who he learns is in fact his real wife. Wouldn't you say he would be quite disturbed to learn that his wife is a murderer?"

Anna let out a tiny cry, "but how did you know it was me?"

"Come down here and we will talk about everything. There is no point trying to get away as you are stuck scaling the side of a building and my partner and I have both of our feet solidly on the ground, so don't even try looking around." Holmes scolded, catching the panicked look in the woman's eye and she whipped her head around seeking an easy exit.

At last she made her way down, and I gently assisted her to the ground before Holmes gripped her forearm and brought her around to the front of the building where she was quickly and quietly handcuffed by an officer who looked mighty surprised to see Holmes and myself with the murderer in our custody.

We came to the station with the rest of the police and made arrangements to interrogate Mrs. Pemberley with Inspector Lestrade.

Sitting down across the table from the young lady, Holmes wearily crossed his arms.

"Anna Pemberley, you understand that you are the primary suspect for the murder of Ms. Agatha Winston? We have enough evidence to convict, so don't waste our time with denials."

"I want my lawyer," Anna spat.

"Do you? So you want this dragged out across the media for weeks and weeks, putting yourself and your husband through hell?" Inspector Lestrade piped in, "Because we are giving you the option here and now, to confess quietly, and be spared the harshest sentence, which in the case of premeditated murder, a capitol offense I need remind you, would be death. If you confess you will be assigned to an asylum, where you will be treated."

"Because I'm a woman?" She asked.

"Pretty much," Holmes replied.

"Thank you, but no. I would rather die than be treated as if I were insane!"

"Madam, you committed murder, that is not an act of stable mind!" Lestrade remonstrated.

"Perhaps you wouldn't be so hasty to judge if you had been left for dead and had your entire life stolen by your own sibling!" Anna expostulated with great feeling swimming in her teary eyes.

"Then why don't you tell us about it," I quietly posed.

"That woman hated me. Even as children. I was of course favoured by our parents for my cleverness and easy manner, but fairly, they loved us both equally! I suppose she was envious when I went off to Newnham. I thought perhaps when I returned home with my fiancé, (I suppose you already know we had secretly eloped before this-) we could try to at the very least be friends, but she was hardly civil to me. Instead she made eyes at my husband. I decided to take a walk with her, and try to make her understand that I just wanted peace between us. Somewhere along the way our conversation turned hostile, and we began to argue. We shared some heated words. She claimed that I was selfish and undeserving of my lot, and I argued that she was bitter and overcome by jealousy that she was less clever than I. She turned quite red with insensible fury and pushed me. I fell backward, and felt myself lost balance, for we were standing on some rocks near the brook. I flung out my arms in attempt to save myself from falling, and I grabbed onto her necklace. The chain broke and I tumbled to the rocks below with her locket still in my hand."

"I suppose she rushed away after this thinking me dead, I'm not sure as I was unconscious for probably awhile as I lay on the rocks below in the brook. When I came to I was in a great deal of pain as I found I had knocked the back of my head. I found the locket in my hand and I cursed her. As I stumbled toward the woods I noticed it had gotten quite dark out, meaning I had been outside at least for an hour. Suddenly I heard Agatha calling my name out. I just nearly responded when I was struck by a sudden epiphany. I hid behind a nearby rock and watched as my sister climbed down to the brook looking around for me. She seemed to be quite mystified by my disappearance and in some state of anxiety, for a moment I hoped the anxiety she felt was that she may have accidentally killed me. My mind was changed however when I heard her mutter aloud, 'Good, I hope the wolves came and dragged you away, you witch.' After she left back home, I began to hatch a plan. Perhaps I would startle her so badly she would be forever sorry. Giving her the scare of her life by returning home suddenly would surely do it."

"When I arrived home, I snuck by the side of the house and listened by the window, surely my husband and my parents would be by this time quite alarmed by my disappearance for whatever explanation my sister had given them, ready to send out a search party for my body. If I could tell them all how she had pushed me…there I'd have my revenge, but suddenly I saw my husband reach out and pull Agatha into his embrace. I pressed my ear against the window and heard him say, 'Anna, it will be alright, we will find your sister.'"

"You can imagine my horror at her treachery! Not only had she unrepentantly pushed me and thought me dead, but she had taken my identity as well! Instead of announcing myself I began to hatch a much different plan."

"As children, our father had given both Agatha and I twin golden lockets with little nightingales carved upon them. I now had both, the one I kept in my sash pocket and the one I had tore from the neck of my sister. On our birthday not soon after she had moved in with my husband, I sent her my locket with the pictures removed! What fun I could have by sending her such an item! I could haunt her as if I were a ghost! Perfectly, she fell for it, and grew quite disturbed by the prospect of my vengeance. Or maybe she thought there was a witness who was blackmailing her, I don't know, either way, everything was going smoothly. The final act of my plan commenced earlier today, I wanted to make it look like suicide of course, but I wanted to kill her myself. That way, I could reunite myself with my husband with a completely fabricated story that would perfectly clear me of any link to the crime. I snuck up to her room and broke in while she slept. When she awoke she saw I loomed before her like Death. She flew up from the bed and screamed, and as she did so I went after her and shoved her locket down her throat and clamped my hand over her mouth, she struggled wildly as I led her to the window, there, she tumbled out herself quite naturally!"

I regarded the woman with horror. So pretty, yet so evil, such an alarming contradiction! Her eyes gleamed with an unnatural light as she sat back in her chair after finishing her tale.

"Clever, Mrs. Pemberley. Too bad you didn't take into consideration that what an autopsy would reveal would quite instantly condemn you." Holmes said, blithely. "I think you have enough here to convict this woman, Inspector, and I also think the Doctor and I have heard quite enough to fill in all the gaps."

Holmes looked at me, "Are you ready to depart for the evening, Watson?"

"Yes, I've heard more that I would have liked." I said standing up.

Before we left, Holmes turned to look at the woman, "Madam, there is quite a substantial difference between justice and what you have done. I think you will be quite happy in Bedlam."

The carriage ride back Holmes heaved a weary sigh, "I've never seen two such rotten seeds from one apple. I'm glad to have this case behind me. I've made a regrettable error in judgment, which allowed that murder to even take place."

"What is that?" I inquired.

"I have become to distracted of late, and have let my emotions fog up my reason!"

"Then I am partially to blame for that," I offered apologetically.

"It cannot be helped, Watson, you are hardly culpable for my… whatever. There should be no allowances in my line of work for such carelessness." Holmes said wringing his hands.

"Perhaps not," I sighed, wanting nothing but the comfortable solitude of my own bed after such a stressful day.

Notes:

Watson has been celibate only because he's been a widower, and he's got too much character to relieve himself at a brothel. Not to mention being a Doctor he's more aware than most people of the types of diseases that can be spread by doing such a thing.


	5. Chapter 5

I awoke the next morning to see the world outside my window whitewashed by a blizzard. I shivered as I lay there wishing for the warmth of another beside me. I banished such a fool's wish and arose, keeping the blankets wrapped close around me. Quickly, I exchanged my blankets in favour of heavier wool garments and my winter dressing gown.

I made my way downstairs and was greeted by Mrs. Hudson who was already tidying up the dining table, setting up for breakfast.

"Good morning, Dr. Watson. My, what a snowstorm we're having! If this keeps up we'll be snowed in!" She exclaimed, sounding surprisingly chipper for having mentioned such an inconvenient prospect. "I'll be right back with some hot tea, dear. There was a nice roaring fire a minute ago, but you might need to stir it up a bit."

I went over and stirred the fire, knocking a bit of debris away, and added a log. I sat down in my usual place at the table and opened up the _Morning Herald_. Mrs. Hudson shuffled back in and set a tea tray down. I poured myself a cup.

"I'll be back very shortly with some warm biscuits, Doctor."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, you're truly spectacular." I acknowledged, warmly. Perhaps our landlady having been a rather lonesome widow for so many years, found the prospect of being trapped inside on a cold winter's day with her two rather erstwhile tenants somewhat welcome. Having never had children, I suppose she'd taken us on as substitutes. She had a particular maternal streak when it came to my friend, whom in her opinion was far too neglectful and self-abusive. I especially shared that opinion as his Doctor.

Why was it every time I began a thought it ended up involving Holmes? I grimaced in annoyance. I was far too preoccupied with that man. When did friendship begin to devolve into this fixation? Perhaps I was just as lonesome a widower as our landlady, to formulate such strange feelings for the man whom had become my sole companion. It was with small effort that I had forgiven Holmes for that three year absence from my life, and it was with equal small effort Holmes had convinced me to move back in not long after. Had my world really begun to revolve around this man? Perhaps it had for years and I had just failed to notice.

After all, hadn't I nearly felt sick at the prospect of leaving Holmes for Mary initially? Hadn't I left her side at a moments notice in order to join my friend on his various adventures?

At Reichenbach, had I not contemplated that precipice with wrenching despair? For those years after I was a shadow of my former self. When Mary died, I fell into a routine that was so absent of emotion, so absent of adventure I may as well have leapt after him that day.

My thoughts were interrupted as Holmes made his appearance. Emitting a great yawning stretch he flopped down into his spot across from me.

"It's quite the storm out there." I stated making conversation. I cleared my throat awkwardly.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed." Holmes responded rather distantly. I stared at him.

"Are you being ironic?" I asked, with a hint of irritation.

Holmes frowned and rubbed his eyes, turning around to look out our front window.

"Oh." He stated with raised eyebrows. He turned back around and poured himself a bit of tea.

"You honestly just noticed?" I demanded with some amount of incredulity.

"I suppose we'll be trapped inside today. At the very least Lestrade shan't be bothered to drop in to complain to me of all the paperwork he has to do on my account."

The snow continued to accumulate outside out window. Not a soul passed down the street for much of the morning. I laid in my chair with my feet upon the settee with the paper spread out upon my lap while Holmes tinkered around somewhat listlessly until he fell back into his own chair with the onset of one of his famous Black Moods.

I watched him get up and go over to his desk, and instantly I knew he would be reaching for that damned needle and vial of poison. He seemed to observe my scrutiny and glanced up.

"I suppose you're going to remark how you wish I wouldn't resort to this. But I would thank you all the same if you'd refrain."

"I wish you could confide in me instead of resorting to that damned solution," I said with a frown.

"I don't find any particular need to do so."

With this cold pronouncement he tied the tourniquet and injected himself, then rose from his chair and swooped down to pick up his violin which he began to saw away at with careless abandon. The distorted notes grated on my already shattered nerves.

"Why must you torture me with this racket? Not once have I heard you play as you used to for me." I grumbled a bit hurt. I decided to remove myself from such unpleasant company.

"I'm going for a walk," I declared to no one in particular, and when I received no response I went upstairs to put on my boots.

I trudged slowly through the sheets of snow for a quarter of an hour with dawning embarrassment at my foolishness. What inspired me to go outside in this blasted storm… hurt feelings? I should have been quite a bit more thick-skinned by now. I turned around and felt myself snow-blinded. I saw a cab once through the thick of the white, but it had hurried along its path, and I was beginning to feel not only foolish and cold, but abandoned as well. I decided it would be wise to duck under an eave and make my way into a shop, but everything was unoccupied and locked up. I decided upon hanging out in an alley between some apartments while I waited for the blasts to die down before making my way home. I could barely see in which direction I had come.

Suddenly I started when I felt a hand clamp down upon my shoulder. I whipped around to face a pair of icy gray eyes glaring at me coolly.

"Holmes!" I managed, startled out of my wits to see him.

"Why on earth did you leave the house? Do you not see the inherent danger in such a foolish idea?" Holmes blustered.

"I would have been fine, you needn't have come after me!" I defended, though in truth I was grateful to be rescued, yet that was the last thing I wanted him to think. I honestly felt quite childish to be reprimanded in such a fashion, and sullenly allowed myself to be led back by the strength and expertise of my friend.

At the very least I was reassured that he cared enough to go out after me. And relieved that I wasn't doomed to a fate of becoming a living block of ice in some narrow back alley.

When we arrived back home, Holmes draped an afghan across my shoulders, and Mrs. Hudson bustled in with a tub of hot water for me to soak my feet. Holmes stoked the fire and granted me with a soft and most concerned look.

"My dear fellow, what on earth has gotten into you? You know you mustn't take my harsh words or my melancholic behaviours so personally. It seems every time I turn around lately I've offended you. I don't want to lose my Boswell due to my lack of sense."

"Or lack of sensitivity?" I offered, crossly, "You mistreat me far too often. I admit my running out in this inclement weather was one of my less thought out moments, and I do appreciate you rescuing me out of your sense of guilt, but being stuck like a bird in a cage with a snake, does tend to make one feel a need to escape."

Holmes looked as if I'd struck him and stood up from his chair to pace about the room, arms crossed guardedly across his chest.

"Do you mean that? You truly wish to escape me? You think me so heartless…?"

"Sometimes." I responded with an awkward blush warming my face.

"Watson, but truly you must know of my regard for you…?" He ventured looking at me with a puzzled flush.

I shook my head, "Holmes, you take me for granted."

"On the contrary!" He argued.

"On the contrary? You don't even trust me!" I spat, feeling my face glow red with frustration.

"There are aspects of my life which I implicitly trust you with, others…"

"You abandoned me for three long years allowing me to think I had lost you forever! You couldn't even once in all that time, tried to covertly contact me? I sincerely doubt that!" I exclaimed churlishly.

"You resent me so much for that? I did it to protect you! You couldn't have known the inherent danger surrounding me at all times. And by extension, you were in the gravest of it, for if any of Moriarty's agents had even suspected you had the slightest of knowledge of my whereabouts they would have done terrific harm to extort such knowledge."

"It's not the point! You know…I'm not sure I should trust you, yet I do! I trust you with my life. I don't ask that of you. I only wish you were open with me."

"There are aspects of myself I must keep from you. It's selfish, yes, but if you knew certain things, I could hardly hope to keep you're friendship."

"Try me," I crossed my arms across my chest, "Explain to me what it is that you can't tell me. If you can't give me some sort of reasonable response, then I don't see how we can live like this any longer."

"You would quit on me so easily?"

I didn't rise to the bate. Instead I conveyed to him my sincerity with the most resolute and defiant expression I could muster.

Holmes looked at me with the saddest expression. He seemed to inwardly deflate, and collapsed into his chair across from me.

"I failed this case because I've been distracted. This feeling is a beast that consumes me though I resist it with every turn. It's the one problem that seems to be without a feasible solution! It's of course, you."

"Me?" I exclaimed.

"I can neither live with you, nor live without you!" Holmes explained looking keenly distressed, "I've tried, by god, to do so! I thought that it could be no worse when you left me for Mary, but to see you, and not have you drove me quite mad. Yet, during those three years traveling the globe, I could only think how much worse it was that I was cut off from you completely! It was as if my very reason for breathing had been taken away. My only driving force was to rid the world of this threat which imposed itself upon yours and my safety, so that I could return once again to your side, even if, Watson, even if it could never be really, truly by your side in the way that so endlessly tortured me."

I'm sure I looked quite bowled over.

"This, Watson, is what's so chiefly damning about it all! You at last get to know what exactly drives me to such desolation, but it is the last thing you ever wanted to hear!"

"I'm not sure I understand you correctly," I felt myself grow red high in the cheeks, "you love me?"

As soon as the question came out I regretted saying it, and felt keenly self conscious.

"That is, more or less correct, though to be specific, I'm more…  _in_  love with you, though making the distinction seems hardly relevant at this juncture."

Holmes chanced a look at me, and for the first time I was witness to the most candid and hopeful expression I'd ever seen in my friend. For a moment I looked beyond the immediate situation and felt a sense of relief to finally have been granted such a rare glimpse into the heart of the man I'd once considered to be made from stone.

Confirming my silence as rejection he slumped in his chair, "What now should I expect? At the very least you took the initial news of my anomalous nature with relative ease, might you grant me the same mercy once again?"

I shook my head, "I have no idea how to respond to this, Holmes, I just— I need you to let me process this for a bit."

He nodded his head.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts then."

I pulled the afghan closer around me and lit a cigarette. Having been left alone to my thoughts seemed more terrifying a prospect than the confession itself.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day revealed a land awash with ice sparkling upon everything, snow mounded heavily over the eaves of every dwelling, and people attempting to dig their way out to the street.

Breakfast was a tense affair, with neither Holmes nor I looking at each other.

Finally Holmes courageously broke the dreadful silence.

"Watson, about what-"

"Holmes I- " I interjected, but was cut off by Mrs. Hudson's sharp rap upon the door.

"You've received an urgent request to go to Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes." Our landlady announced.

"I suppose if it's urgent, I must" he responded unenthusiastically, though he sounded nearly relieved to escape our inevitable conversation for the time being.

Later that day as I was at the office tending to a scattered handful of usual complaints (mostly an onslaught of the common cold due to recent inclement weather) I decided I was at a loss for how to handle my domestic situation.

Dwelling on the subject only muddled matters more in my mind, yet every time I attempted to disengage from the unsettling feelings stirring within, it became more apparent I would soon have to face and sort them.

A young woman entered my office with two small girls in tow. The children were quarrelling much to the chagrin of the exhausted mother. I checked them for their temperature, before producing a bottle of hoarhound extract (1) to soothe their throats, and suppress their coughs.

I was disturbingly reminded of the latest case of the Winston girls and the dreaded locket and involuntarily shuddered. What force of evil had compelled such heinous acts from mere innocent sibling rivalry? Was it for the love of that young Mr. Pemberley? Could love have truly borne such wickedness? It seemed lately as if love had only been a cause of pain and anxiety for everyone around me.

On my way out, my receptionist motioned toward the curtains and gave me a curt, chastising look. Of course, who had time to consider patterns and put in orders with other such pressing matters?

On a whim, I decided to drop a line down to the surgery at Covent Gardens and see if Dr. Granger was in.

In half an hour, the Doctor and I met up on Regent St. at the new Café Royal.

"I take it you've been suffering insomnia the last couple of nights?" Dr. Granger raised, quirking an eyebrow.

"I don't suppose the bags under my eyes were any indication?" I queried sardonically in response.

The Doctor's great mustache twitched as he chuckled.

"My dear Sir, you delight me! Tell me now in truth, all repartee aside, are you troubled about your little detective chap?"

I blushed at his suggested endearment of my friend, and nodded. Being in a public setting, I sincerely hoped the Doctor would keep his rather bohemian expressions to a more conservative level.

"Has our pamphlet experiment proven anything of… _unique_  interest?"

"It has."

"I see. You of course, being the incredibly modern scientific man you are, accept this revelation, as you obviously have with myself."

"Obviously." I replied anxiously.

Dr. Granger spoke no further for the moment and regarded me as one would a slide sample beneath the lens of a microscope. I felt acutely self conscious to be the study of such concentration and I cleared my throat, bottoming my glass of ale. I looked wistfully down into my glass and hoped it would refill with a liquid of much stiffer content.

"Oh." He replied at last. I glanced up at him with apprehension.

"What?" I asked worried by what he had concluded.

"This is much more complicated, isn't it, Doctor Watson? Why don't we meet at my club tonight to discuss this sensitive matter in further detail?"

I accepted and made plans for him to pick me up from Baker St. at 8 pm.

When I returned home that evening after trudging through the snow up to the front stoop, I noticed Holmes also arriving home.

I held the door open for him, and we both hurried into the front hall. We shook off our coats and boots at the front door, before removing them.

"I perceive from your boots you've been elsewhere than your office. Unfortunately I've had inadequate time to devote to a study on London slush, so I can't say where for certain you enjoyed this particular brand of ale and corned beef on rye." Holmes darted up the stairs and I followed behind to our sitting room.

"It was a baguette, not rye," I corrected, "at Café Royale."

"Ah! On Langham?"

"No, on Regent. What was the urgent matter you were called to attend to?" I pried, curiously.

"Ah, a trivial matter, though it held some interest…it would certainly have appealed to your flair for the sensational. This morning in Southwark, a man was found murdered in a most peculiar and grotesque fashion— locked in a room with hundreds of rats. The murderer had bred them in order to exact revenge for his termination by his former employer, now the late owner of a rodent removal service."

"Ugh. Disturbing!"

"I envy you that you were spared this particular sight. Will you be dining with me tonight?" Holmes asked suddenly, putting up a courageous front.

I shook my head, "I've made plans."

"Have you." Holmes remarked rather than asked, looking fixedly at his feet. So dejected he seemed just then, I felt, for a moment a strange desire to reach out and comfort him. I thought better of the impulse and refrained, though my heart seemed to lurch forward like an invisible arm to him anyhow.

We sat there awkwardly for some time before the clock struck a quarter to 8. Mrs. Hudson called up to me, and I donned my coat. I felt Holmes eyes burn a hole through my back as I departed.

The Doctor and I sat in the cab, and chatted about lighter things such as the recent Wagner concert we'd seen in all the adverts, and the deplorable state of British military technologies compared to Germany. I decided that despite Dr. Granger's inversion, and harmless but inappropriate advance upon myself, he was really quite a likable fellow and becoming a fast friend. I hardly took a moment to consider why exactly I had felt compelled to seek him out again, but did for an instant marvel at the odd events which seemed to pair me with two friends with similar tendencies.

When we arrived at the club, we were warmly received and directed to a dim but comfortable sitting room, with a large fire roaring in the hearth. Dr. Granger led me to a couch. We sat down and each lit ourselves a cigarette.

"So tell me what has been so agitating it's prevented you from receiving proper sleep? Has your friend confessed an intent to make love to you?" The Doctor asked settling back into the plush cushion.

I must have looked quite scandalized as I gawked at my companion. Surely there were other members that could overhear! I looked around gingerly, and noticed men scattered about speaking intimately with one another as I was with the Doctor.

He chuckled softly, and patted my hand reassuringly, "No need to worry here, Dr. Watson. These men are all of sympathetic nature to myself and your friend."

I looked around again, this time most agitated! I noticed with dawning horror, that a few of the men whom had been moments ago engaged in conversation, were now actively engaging in affectionate acts that were in the law of our land, punishable to breaking rocks in Reading Gaol!

"You brought me to  _this_  type of establishment?" I hissed, "Are you made? What if I've been seen? I'll be crucified!"

"No need to be so dramatic, I always take proper care to make sure I'm inconspicuous. I brought you here so we could speak freely without fear of less compassionate people eavesdropping. Now tell me."

I sighed, and relaxed somewhat, "Very my friend (I kept him nameless as to protect his name from possible blackmailers) confessed to me his nature, I had a strange time coming to terms with it. I began to feel oddly protective of him. We've been having awkward relations amidst frequent rows… mostly due to petty misunderstandings. Then I began to have dreams of a disturbing nature involving him and me. This is all right before he admits to me he's been harbouring feelings for me for a long while. I don't know what to do. I'm bewildered about these queer unsettling sentiments of mine, and I know little how to deal with this knowledge that he desires me. I only know that I've always considered myself to be an admirer of the fairer sex, yet my friend seems to cross these boundaries within myself."

"This is the first time you've felt such a way?"

"Well there were times I experimented with other boys as all youth does in boarding school, and I knew of several inverts back in my days in the military and they all seemed like normal likable enough chaps…Oh Doctor! I'm terrified I might be falling in love with him! Though I'm also equally terrified of ending up like that play-write Wilde! I fear even if my friend and I came to a sort of arrangement, it would be impossible to escape discovery with our line of work being in such close proximity with Scotland Yard!"

"So what do you plan to do about this?" The Doctor asked, calmingly rubbing the back of my neck as I laid out my problems before him.

"Well nothing! I don't think I could talk to him about this. What if I tell him I reciprocate, and then I realize I was mistaken? That I cannot in actuality perform the physical part of being intimate that he would desire? He's prone to moods, and I fear should I be inconstant he may completely lose faith in love and humanity as a whole!"

Dr. Granger laughed, "You have such a poetic way of putting things!" He shifted closer to me, "I have a fool-proof way to help you figure out whether or not you might respond to intimacy with a man."

I felt a rush of warmth and an odd tingle at my companion's suggestive offer. For a moment I felt a paranoid sense as if two eyes were boring a hole through me. I waved aside the notion, but before I could do anything, strong arms were positioning themselves about me and I was being pulled forward into a kiss.

For a moment I was so stunned, I couldn't even resist, as I reasonably recognized a pair of lips and a thick mustache gently but insistently being applied to my own. I stiffly realized I should probably be pushing the Doctor away, but for some reason, I could not. A curious heat descended upon me and I felt suddenly compelled to respond. Though it was certainly nothing like the softness of kissing a woman, slowly I began to move my head and open my lips in allowance for the abrupt entrance of his tongue. His gentleness suddenly turned to fierceness, and I felt myself be pushed into the back of the cushion with some force as he invaded my mouth. This was not at all pleasant and quickly brought me back to my senses. I pushed him away from me, and wiped my hand across my mouth to rid my lips of the flavour of his acrid tobacco and stale wine.

"I'm so sorry, my friend, I forgot myself. You're very hard to resist! I hope I haven't given you too much of a fright."

"N-no. I'll be alright, it was just… unexpected, You might've warned me, and perhaps have taken that a bit more slowly."

"I don't suppose I'll be allowed to try that again?" The Doctor said with a touch of regret, still with a glow of warmth in his eyes.

I shook my head.

"I am most genuinely sorry for pressing my advantage, my friend. My advice for you is to go home and tell your chap how you feel!"

"Thank you, Dr. Granger. I truly do appreciate your assistance on this matter!"

On my way home I was overcome by conflicting emotions of anxiety and excitement. I tried to anticipate how the following confession would play out, but I could not in my nervousness. I felt truly young despite myself!

Notes:

1.) A soothing remedy commonly used back then for sore throats and coughs.


	7. Chapter 7

I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to respond to Holmes in some sort of fashion, though truly I was terrified. Granger's kiss had both awoken a part of me that wasn't adverse to the concept of being intimate with a man, yet at the same time it had startled me in its forcefulness. Was this what it would be like to be with a man? It wasn't the feelings I was troubled by, but the physical part.

The most important thing to me was to preserve our friendship above all else. I was terrified that if I told Holmes that I indeed shared more profound feelings for him yet denied Holmes on a physical facet, he may as well withdraw himself completely from me. On the other hand I couldn't outright tell him that I wished for things to remain platonic between us; knowing my friend, he would be most likely aware that I harboured some sort of feelings for him. This made the entire ordeal more complex! If I rejected him completely he would see through my lie, and resent me for it.

I was certain upon one point: that protective desire I had to wrap my friend in my arms compounded with the strange reactions I'd been having in response to his touch compelled me to believe that perhaps I would be congenial to exploring the more alien aspects of my nature.

As to that specific situation: was it now that I'd become some sort of deviant like Holmes? Was I now also the Wildean-like Homosexual discussed so expansively within that pamphlet? Three continents knowledge of women later and I was now turned  _ invert _ ? I had never found a man appealing before, and still yet found the female form to be alluring. This part of me that I was coming to realize must have always been a part of me, but laying dormant until now. I had always known myself to be appreciative of more earthly delights, but never before had I to deal with matters that tempted me into that which was illegal!

I was terrified.

Undeniably and exhaustively terrified. I was about to confront the most pivotal and possibly life changing event I'd ever faced, since before the time I'd decided to first move in with Holmes.

(From the Account of Sherlock Holmes)

After I was finally forced to confession, and received such an inconclusive response, I could barely manage to work on any case let alone function. I was suffering inconsiderable amounts of anxiety. Could I have made a leviathan error in judgment? Perhaps it was enough that he accepted me for the first offence. Did I have to push my luck?

No, I don't believe in luck. Luck is for those of guileless and superstitious mind. It would be easy to believe in luck or lack thereof. To pretend there is some source of infinite wisdom that reaches out with a potent and invisible hand to guide us along some predetermined path would be any easy way to excuse many a gaffe in judgment. But I believe there is an action for every equal and opposite reaction, there is only cause and effect. We make our own path which determines a chain of events ultimately resulting in what fortunes or misfortunes we are borne.

But I digress! Occasionally I wax philosophic when I suffer a melancholic state.

The problem was that I had perceived on several occasions a peculiar reaction to myself within dear Watson that encouraged me to believe that Mycroft's supposition may have been accurate. I felt that perhaps if he weren't entirely revolted by my touch, and even my initial confession, that perhaps he'd be receptive to the knowledge that I desired him.

Yet even after I revealed such, I began to feel immense regret! Had I miscalculated this situation so thoroughly? His response had been eminently unsatisfactory, after all.

Between botching up that locket situation so atrociously by lacking proper focus in my professional life, and standing on the precipice of imminent disaster in my personal life, I felt compelled more than usual to rely on the cocaine to numb my senses.

However impaired my senses may have been, I did perceive something irregular about Watson's continued avoidance of the subject. I know to respect my friend's privacy, but I felt a keen suspicion that he was up to something that he was with great effort trying to conceal from me.

In my state of mind, I couldn't resist investigating. This is what led me to follow closely behind a cab which contained my friend and an apparent companion.

I told the cab driver to slow down as we neared Piccadilly. I had a dreadful feeling that we were nearing one of those clubs of dubious reputation. I knew of several of those clubs (though I had never attended or applied) around this area alone. My suspicions were proven valid when we passed onto Jermyn Street. Watson and Friend exited their cab and made their way into the club.

How stupid and dangerous! For the life of me I couldn't figure out why Watson should risk heading into a club like this in the first place, let alone with someone other than me!

The man at the door looked at me with a queer expression. Obviously I was suspicious as a stranger unattended by a member. I was asked the password, which, I had gleaned was some sort of pun or reference revealing the true nature of the club.

"Hellenism." I stated confidently.

"That is not the password." The doorman scowled, shooing me away much to my severe inconvenience.

"Athens! Greek! Erotas! Thelema! What then!?"(1) I supplicated to no avail. I sighed dramatically, and stormed away. I would just have to get in another way. I anxiously tried to  _ not  _ imagine why Watson was at this place and  _ what _ he was doing inside. At last I snuck around the back side removed my penknife from my pocked, lodged it in the window jam and pried it up enough for me to get my fingers in to slide it up part way. I pressed my ear close to the opening and listened for movement.

When all seemed in the clear I peaked in and saw the room was vacant. I lifted a board and shoved it against the bottom of the window pane managing to push it open enough for me to maneuver my way in. Once inside I brushed myself off and looked around. It seemed to be a room decorated for the sole purpose of coupling, complete with a clothing rack, sumptuous divan, small table and washing bin. Inconspicuously I moved my way into the main room.

The light was dim, and there were men in intimate conversation with each other. All would seem without suspicion if there weren't tell tale clues such as hands upon knees and other such small affectionate gestures.

Finally, I spotted my quarry. Watson and his companion were sitting next to each other in energetic conversation over something or another, and I decided to lay low and study this new situation.

For the most part there was nothing terribly fantastic about Watson's companion. He was a doctor in his mid-forties, clearly of homosexual tendency, with conservative taste belying bohemian mannerisms. He was of moderate build, had a strong jaw and a most obnoxious and distasteful moustache which was suddenly to my alarm brushing itself against Watson's face.

I watched in absolute horror as my friend was drawn into a most forceful and repulsive kiss. I nearly sprung out of the shadow I was lingering in to tear this brute away from  _ my _ Watson! My teeth ground together and my knuckles went white clutching the banister as I restrained myself from ambushing this villain!

My rage simmered into horror, shock and defeat as I saw Watson respond in kind. With this I could no longer torture myself to remain, so I turned away and snuck out the main room. I barely recognized what I was doing as I entered out the main way.

The doorman did a double take and sputtered in protest, though I heard not a word as I distractedly and dejectedly exited, and hailed a cab back to Baker Street. (2)

What had I just witnessed in there? My friend whom I had hidden the true nature of my feelings for, for well over a decade was in fact secretly an invert himself? Had a lover of which I was previously unaware? How long had he hidden this from me?

I had a sudden epiphany! Of course! It takes one to know one, is the adage! Hence, how he'd caught me unawares and discovered my own secret!

Oh, and then that confession! That damned confession! Why had I ever told him I loved him? To think of it I burned with humiliation. Of course he spared me the pain by simply neglecting to tell me he already had a lover.

It was all coming together now. Why he was so unaffected by my initial revelation, and then secondarily, why he was so unresponsive to my secondary one!

I burned with regret. Why hadn't I told him sooner? Perhaps he might've been mine years ago had I only the nerve to try, and now I'd lost him! I was a fool.

I sat for the next half-hour in my chair smoking my pipe feeling in quite a black mood. At last he entered, and I listened as he seemed to slowly make his way up the stairs. When he finally came in the drawing room he took one look at me, and I lost all modicum of self control.

I leapt from my chair and pointed an accusing finger, "I saw you at your club! The game is up, Watson. You needn't have lied to spare my feelings, but how dare you! How dare you pester me about not trusting you! I shall never trust you again now, not for as long as I live!"

At the end of my tirade, I observed Watson's features sag with the weight of dawning horror, and I too broke. I collapsed back in my chair, and I covered my face with my hands and tried to remember how to breathe.

"Holmes, how— and but why did you… my friend, you must listen to me," Watson began beseechingly, "you misunderstand the entire situation."

I couldn't look at him but my curiosity was peaked, what could he possibly make me understand about the situation that I hadn't already observed?

"Holmes, I don't know why you followed me, but you mistake my motives! I didn't lie to try to spare you, my friend, Dr. Granger is not my paramour, though out of context I can see where you'd have gotten such an idea."

"Oh? Was that then not a passionate embrace I witnessed? Was that familial or friendly and I just happened to completely misconstrue it because I am so completely out of touch with the trends and current social niceties?" I ranted, turning red in the face.

"Absurd as it sounds, yes."

I stopped, momentarily confused, "I'm out of touch?"

"Don't be daft. Let me continue! I allowed him to kiss me so I could see if it was something I could manage to do, Holmes."

"Kissing lessons." I stated dumbly.

Watson sighed, "Of a sort."

He observed my look of skepticism and turned away from me.

"Holmes, I know you're hurt and ill-inclined to listen to me, but at least give me a sporting chance to explain."

"Hurt!" I sputtered, indignant, "How dare you tell me how I'm feeling. You…have no idea."

"Holmes, we can't go on like this."

For a moment, I was stunned by the blow, bravely however I took it in stride and replied in an even tone, "Right then, will you need help in packing your bags? I don't want to inconvenience you, but since this address has been established as the site of my business, and you have your lover and your practice over in-"

"Holmes wait-"

"I will be most sore to lose such an excellent partner… "

"Oh for goodness sake! You're not losing anything!" Watson tried to interject.

"Mrs. Hudson will be devastated, but of course she'll get over it. And I have my clients, and my work, and it really will be for the best, this whole ordeal has put me quite out of sorts, which is no good for business!" I rambled, desperate to preserve the little dignity I had left while trying not to break down completely.

"Are you quite done?"

"Done?"

"Done talking?" "You mistake my meaning entirely."

"Do I?" I challenged.

Watson heaved a tested sounding sigh. "'Is life not a hundred times too short for us to stifle ourselves?'"

"Nietzche," I recognized, "but I confess I'm not following."

"I'm saying Holmes, that I do care for you"

"Well that's absurd and confounding! I mean, you did after all leave me for a woman, and then for another man… you'll have to elaborate. I would myself, but I believe my power of deduction is completely stifled within your presence."

"You know what I mean."

"Again, do I? I'm at a loss to explain your drastic change in preference, and even more so to explain your awful taste in men. Had I known you were so partial to massive amounts of facial hair…"

"Holmes, about that— you don't understand the circumstances. I still do very much enjoy the finer points of women, yet there seem to be exceptions to this rule. This is all very new to me, Holmes. I have a friend who was willing to aide me through the process of figuring this out...that is who you saw me with."

"So you skipped right over me when opting for a partner to practice with." I stated, not bothering to disguise the jealousy and hurt in my tone.

"I was practicing for you, Holmes." Watson confessed, exasperated.

I stood stock still letting this sink in. I just about fell over. I was so dense! Yet a sense of joy began to claw its way into my gut.

"Are you sure you're not saying this out of some misguided sense of pity? You mean this? You want to be with me?" I asked, hardly believing it.

"Yes."

"I don't know quite what to say. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?!" Watson seemed taken aback at this response.

"I'm sorry because this isn't an easy path to walk and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But if anyone were to so happen to find themselves walking on the same path, I'm quite selfishly overjoyed that it is you. I couldn't have dreamt for something so fortuitous. Can you forgive me for being such a complete clod?"

"You are an exception to the rule, Sherlock Holmes. You always have been," Watson chided, jokingly, "but I suppose I'll make an exception for you. You're forgiven. Do you forgive me for being a right insensitive ass?"

I laughed nervously, still unsure of how we stood. Though my nervousness was of a whole new sort now.

"Remarkable how my own fears and uncertainties clouded my ability to observe all of this." I mused aloud, as I hesitantly and shyly moved nearer to my dear friend.

"You have my whole heart, Holmes, you have for a very long while now." Watson declared with timid sincerity. I finally moved to cup his face within my hand.

"Will you allow me to demonstrate my depth of feeling for you, John?" Watson's breath hitched and he closed his eyes at my usage of his first name in such a fashion.

"Shall I draw the curtains?" He said, opening his eyes back up to gaze at me with a heavy lidded expression of warmth that lent a flush to my face, and sent a heated rush of feeling down through the core of my body.

"Quite so." I breathlessly stole away to quickly close the curtains before he could, and then swept him up into my arms.

"Watson, I should like to request permission to kiss you."

"You needn't ask what's already yours to take, my friend. I'd be honoured if you would."

I leaned forward, and felt a rush of electricity course through my veins, as for the first time our lips met in unison. It was nothing and everything like I'd imagined it would be. It was perfect, and sensual and completely clumsy. My teeth knocked into his as I attempted to deepen our kiss, and I'm quite sure I poked him in the eye with my nose. But as we stood there inside each other's embrace, all the affection I'd ever felt for this man increased tenfold.

As our kiss deepened, we mutually pulled closer, pressing into each other as if we might, standing there, bond molecules and form one creature. The scruff of his moustache chafed my upper lip in the most amazingly sensual way, and I groaned as I felt my excitement flow directly down into my nether regions.

I tried to pull away to hide my shame and spare my friend my physical reaction, but he pulled me even closer and it was revealed to me to my great joy that he shared my state of arousal. We pressed into each other and melted down onto the settee. I could barely think so insensate I was within my passion, and I hurriedly began to undo his collar and remove his tie, all the while smothering his face in adoring kisses. Gods, I wanted this man! He crushed his groin into mine, as he straddled me, attempting to free me from my shirt and collar as well.

Suddenly he stopped.

"What?" I asked, almost frantically.

"Should we lock the doors?"

I nodded and moaned with the loss, as he got off of me to secure the room for maximum privacy.

When he came back over, I grabbed his hands, wrapped my arms around him and pulled him back down on top of me.

To my immense disappointment, he pulled away again, and looked at me with hesitancy clouding his features.

"Holmes, I'm not sure about this. I mean, I want this. It's just that, intimacy with a woman is one thing, but I confess, I'm completely out of my league, here."

"Well, it can't be that much different than being with a woman. It's still essentially the same idea."

"Yes, but it's the parts that are so different."

In my state of urgent arousal I felt myself become slightly cross, "Truly, but I'm no more practiced here than you are, old man, if anything quite less so." I nuzzled his neck affectionately, and he pulled back from me. Suddenly I felt very cold as a sinking feeling began to descend upon me. Surely he couldn't be pulling out from me now? Not after everything… I nearly panicked as he separated himself from me and sat up. I rolled over from my prone position to hide my jutting arousal feeling quite terrified and humiliated.

He studied me, "Holmes, I'm sorry."

I died. I felt my face blanch.

"Watson–" I began.

I calmed as he stroked his fingers through my hair, "Holmes, I'm sorry, we just have to take this slow, I need to get my bearings. And don't think for one second it's because of any lack of desire I have for you," he glanced down and the prominent bulge in his trousers, "I have more than enough of that to spare, it's just, this is a bit much for having just exchanged our mutual feelings not more than five minutes ago after a week of arguing. You're not just some cheap one night stand to me, Holmes, we can take this at a more gradual pace."

I arched a brow and challenged him, "Yes, but allow me to make a few points." I awaited his nod of permission, "Point one: do we not have more than a decade to make up for? Point two: we're not getting any younger, if you haven't noticed, and I should like to show you just how much I want you before I'm too old to bandy this thing about like such. Point three: I'm not a woman. I don't need slow, gentle love-making."

"I noticed point three, Holmes-" I shut him up and kissed him again.

"Shall we move this to one of the bedrooms?" I interrupted briefly, tired of being poked in the back by the arm of the couch.

We stumbled into my bedroom, being the closest one right off of the sitting room, and tumbled down onto the bed in a jumbled heap of tangled limbs, and half-removed clothing. I frustratedly worked at the buttons of John's shirt before becoming too impatient and tearing it from him, with buttons flying.

"Holmes!" Watson admonished. I playfully nipped his lip.

"I'll send it to a tailor in the morning." I propped myself above him, and looked down admiringly at my dearest John. Still, after many years from youth, he retained an excellent physique and admirable muscle tone. The old wound on his shoulder was mottled and silvery with age and stretched like a star above his breast. I felt compelled to lean down and kiss it. I moved across his entire torso tasting and nipping my way around with an amount of shy and slow reverence. I was finally allowed to do this, when I had for so many years played it out in fantasies that I thought should never come true.

I must have lingered for a moment lost in my reverie, for Watson suddenly urged me back to action by removing my own shirt fully, (though I have no idea how he managed to so artfully remove my shirt with buttons intact!) He stroked my chest slowly with his finger tips, teasingly rubbing my sensitive nubs which hardened beneath his ministrations sending shivers of pleasure down to my aching cock. I in turn began to discard of John's trousers. He raised up allowing me to slip them completely off.

I knelt down between his legs and kissed the inside of his thigh which tensed beneath my touch. He arched back closing his eyes as I delicately kissed my way up to his straining manhood. I stopped momentarily to admire the beauty before me before I took him in my hand and began to gently rub the top of the head which seeped a clear drop of fluid. In my wonderment I leaned down to lap it up with my tongue. John moaned beneath me, his cheeks flush in passion. I decided right then and there to take him fully in my mouth. He pushed into me desperately, crying out my name.

"You're perfect like this," I said teasingly. I straddled him again and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Holmes, oh my god!" he whimpered, wantonly pressing himself into me seeking contact. I gasped as his hard leaking member pressed against my own.

We met in a frenzied passionate kiss, continuing to rub against each other, cocks pressing deliciously together. I was on the precipice, I saw stars literally dance before my eyes, then John leaned in bit my neck lightly below my jaw, moaning out my name as he shook, releasing his passion onto my chest and abdomen. Overcome, I felt myself spin off into a white world of oblivion, and exploded my load between us, as he kissed me deeply.

At last we rolled over, neither one of us touching, so exhausted we were. I reached down onto the floor and snatched up a sheet which I cleaned myself off with before handing to John.

When he was finished cleaning himself he rolled closer to me and rested his chin against my shoulder, his lips close to my ear.

"I want you to know, you have me convinced. I wouldn't mind doing this again every night with you for the rest of my life."

I chuckled, "You may have to."

"You know, I do care a great deal for you, Holmes."

Vast understatement. I can see a deep and abiding love glimmering from a light within his eyes. For a moment I'm not a little overwhelmed, and can say nothing. He knows I could read the true emotion in his face as he did little to disguise it. He seems to take my silence as a lack of reciprocation, and tries to turn away, but I stop him, and make him look at me again.

"I'm not as excellent with words as you are, my friend, but you are my sun, my moon, and stars. It may sound trite, but it's true. I never expected to have you I my arms, though I dreamt it nearly every night for ten years. If you can imagine it."

(Watson's Account Continued)

Throughout the years we continued to share many more adventures together, and for better or worse shared each other's intimate company whilst remaining the truest of friends.

Through writing this account of the Nightingale Locket case Holmes granted me the honour of sharing several of his accounts of the ordeal which I've found to be remarkably enlightening even all these years later. Sometimes it startles me to read the soft and sentimental words he speaks about me only through ink on paper.

I wish only now we lived in a time that was more sympathetic to a love of the sort we share, for it is of the truest and noblest variety.

I've concluded that I shall in fact, be selling my practice and moving in with Holmes, society be damned. They daren't malign us anyhow- not with my avidly loyal readership and Holmes' impervious and sterling reputation.

As I write this I'm on my way to the little bee farm in Sussex Downs, I can almost see the bottom of the hill now, where my friend awaits me with his warm embrace.

Notes:

1.) Erotas- sensual desire and longing (Greek) Thelema- desire (modern Greek)

2.) (Sherlock Holmes' Aside: "In my distress I also failed to realize I was publicly being seen exiting from this particular establishment. Though it pretended to be of decent repute, it was bound to go down in a raid at any time. Though I was fortunate to have not been recognized by anyone of the Yard or a ne'er do well, I'd later be reprimanded by Mycroft for further descent into carelessness after I'd retold to him this account.")

  
  



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